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The Ballad 
of JACK 
MUNROE 



Oh, tKis is the tale of Jack Munroe, 

With arm of iron and fist of brass. 
Who fought a Champion long ago! 

(The glittering years! How. swift they pass!) 
And his back was broad and hi.s eyes were bright 
And his soul was square and his spirit light. 

He tramped far over the mossy rocks, 

The rocks which bloom into cobalt rose, 

Where the geese go past in their arrow flocks, 

Where the spruce sings soft as the Norther blows. 

Where the Polar Torches illume the sky 

And the mystic lakes of the forest lie. 

He came one day to the mining town 

Across the lake in his bark canoe. 
He filed his claims and they wrote them down 

And plotted them all, and put them through. 
Then they spoke to him, by the veriest chance, 
Of the bloody war on the plains of France. 

"A war?" he said, with a questing eye. 

"Is England in it?" They answered, ' Yes. 
Then Jack Munroe raised his head on high 

And answered: "It's up to rne, I guess. 
I have a sister. She gets my coin. 
Make out my will. I'm a-goin' to join." 

And thus it was that old Jack Munroe 

Brought deeds and papers, a goodly store, 

To the claim Recorder the mi:jers know 

And saw them behind a good steel door, 

And signed his will, and remarked: "So long! 

I was always stuck on the bugle's song." 

For he s<iid: "It's duty, and nothing less," 

And his lips were tight and his smile was gnm, 

"So put me down for the Privates' Mess. 
The King is calling, and I'm for him. 

And what are the odds if I don't come^^back? 

They named me after the Union Jack.' 

And so he signed with t!he "Prjncess Pats." 

You saw the beautiful regiment start 
With the saucy swing and the rakish hats 

And the love of a girl in every heart. 
And this is the story miners tell 
Of a fighting man who set out for hell. 



PUBLISHER'S NOTE— TAc ahooe poem is re- 
pTinled with permission, from "Sea Dogs and Men 
at Arms" by J. E. Middleton, published b^ G. P. 
Putnam 's Sons, New York and London, 





Lieut. Jack ^JiCunroe and ^obby (Qurns, Mascot of the Princess Pats 



A Dog Story of the Princess *Tats." 

MOPPING UP! 

By 

Lieutenant Jack jVxunroe 
Through the Eyes of Bobbie Burns, 




JxS^ie burns 

Regimental Mascot 
Illustrated 




NEW YORK 

THE H. K. FLY COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



t> 



^^> 



Copyright 1918, by 
The H. K. Fly Company. 



{liOV -8 1918 



©CLA50 6486 






To the Memory of those 

PRINCESS "PATS" 

and their Comrades of all 

Nations, Cemented in the 

Red Bond for World 

Freedom, who have 

"GONE WEST* 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

UPON a day in April, 1905, Mexico City, as I 
recall it, was hotter than any other commun- 
ity on the North American continent ever 
dared to be. Out of the molten glare streaming 
from heavens of brass I seeped into the rotunda of 
the Hotel Plaza, an ancient stone pile which some- 
how brought one's thoughts back to the days of the 
original Spanish Fathers. 

There, immersed in swimming heat, I beheld a 
fellow-being tortured with more of discomfort than 
my own. 

He was not a human being. Life, on four furry 
legs, fawned up at me with lolling tongue. A beau= 
tiful coat he wore, this collie puppy of a year or 
thereabouts; a coat of dark sable hue and with 
white collar, a glorious ruff around his throat. But 
it was a coat which belonged not in the infernal 
heat of the tropics, but in northern snows. 

Sprawling upon the floor, he rose as I approached 
him. He looked up in my face and whinec. His 
eyes were filmy with heat; his throat was gasping; 
in the pathetic dumb language of the dog, man's 
best friend, he strove to acquaint me with his need 
— and I understood him. 

Let who will believe in chance. I believe in des- 
tiny. As surely as I believe that God ordained that 
the insolent militarists of Germany should set " Der 

7 



8 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

Tag " too soon, and thus invite their ultimate de- 
struction at the hands of an outraged civilization, 
so I believe the day was appointed for the meet- 
ing with me of my beloved dumb comrade. I be- 
lieve that he was destined to come to me and remain 
with me till death parts us; that it is appointed on 
some future day we shall range together some fair 
field of the beyond. 

With the first look of appeal in his wistful eyes, 
with the responsive understanding in my own, there 
was forged between us the link unbreakable. With 
Bobbie Burns and I there is no wondering whether 
there can be " love at first sight." We know. 

So, reading his need, I procured him a drink of 
water. The poor, parched, suffocating puppy 
lapped it greedily. With every draught the won- 
derful, dark, liquid eyes — eyes that even in his in- 
fancy were deep with amazing wisdom — eloquently 
attested the instant emotion of love, enduring love, 
which somehow my coming had inspired in him. 

Was it because of a kindred racial sympathy? 
Because his forebears and mine had alike fared amid 
the " banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon "? I do not 
know. I know only that, as Fate decreed, I came, I 
saw, and my comrade concurred in my unspoken im- 
mediate wish for possession of him. I know only, 
as was proved by his subsequent actions, that with 
my literally walking into his life, his keen canine 
mind then and there settled the question of his fu- 
ture. I was his — and he was mine forever. 

Acquainted thoroughly with the Scotch collie, I 
knew, of course, that of all the tribes of dogs, he 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 9 

was emphatically the " one man dog." But this 
was to be at once impressed upon my mind with 
more force than I expected. 

As I gave his head what I considered a parting 
pat, I regretfully dismissed my acquisitive thought 
regarding him. It was too much to expect that the 
owner, whoever he might be, would consider parting 
with so fine a pup. So, " Good-bye, boy," said I, 
and walked out of the rotunda into the blazing heat. 

At the corner below the hotel something follow- 
ing at my heels attracted my attention. I looked 
backward and downward. 

It was the collie pup. 

" I appreciate the compliment, you know," I told 
him, with a grave attempt to impress upon him the 
ethics of the situation, " but it won't do. Probably 
the heat has confused you. You see, you don't be- 
long to me." 

He stood, panting in the heat, and smiled up at 
me steadily. His brush waved in dissent of my 
denial. As plainly as if he had spoken the words, 
he was telling me : 

" I may not belong to you — yet. But — Master 
— you belong to me ! " 

What can you do against such determination? 

But the collie took the entire initiative. And to 
reach my side he sought not to leave another man, 
but a woman. 

At the risk of offending my feminine readers I 
must admit that, in the morning of his eventful life, 
the collie was so ungallant. 

A week had passed since he first espied me. The 



10 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

second day, while he had remained as securely at- 
tached 'to my heels as the leather thereof, I found 
who owned him. (Theoretically.) 

She was a woman living in the Plaza. She had 
been a nurse in the family of President Madero, of 
Mexico. The President had received the collie, in 
the early days of puppyhood, from a friend In Cleve- 
land, Ohio. Later he had presented the dog to 
the nurse. 

Notwithstanding my growing love for the dog, 
I made, of course, many attempts to induce him to 
remain with his owner. The outcome of my efforts 
is best described by recording a brief conversation 
between the nurse and myself on the seventh day 
after the pup had seen me and decided forthwith 
to switch orbits. 

" He has eyes only for you ! " she declared, as 
we stood in the rotunda with the collie gazing up 
at us inquiringly — and I am confident that he un- 
derstood every word. "Take him; he is yours!" 

" Ah, but, sehorita," I demurred, with a show of 
reluctant incredulity, though my heart leaped with 
hypocritical joy. "I could not think of it! You 
mean that you will part with him? " 

" Si, sefior. With happiness. He has no look for 
me now. Why should I cling to him? Adios, faith- 
less one ! " 

With a careless gesture of farewell toward the 
collie, whose only acknowledgment was to wag his 
tail and beam at me, she started to leave us, a tall 
graceful figure In her garb of the sisterhood of 
mercy which is worn by the nurses of Mexico. 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS ii 

I detained her. " I wish to pay you for him, of 
course. And to thank you." 

" To thank me is sufficient, seiior." She was 
again turning away. 

" One moment, sehorita, if you please," I inter- 
posed. "What is the puppy's name?" 

She responded with a sequence of syllables, in 
liquid Spanish, and hurried out, leaving me staring 
perplexedly at the collie. I had caught only the first 
three syllables. Decidedly, he must be re-chris- 
tened. My taste was for less syllables. 

While gazing at him as he stood wide-eyed, wist- 
ful and expectant, his tufted ears pointing forward 
giving him the look of intense alertness that is a hall- 
mark of his royal tribe, an inspiration winged to 
me. 

" You fairly smack of the heather," I told him. 
" Scotland has raised braw men and braw dogs. 
Your name is Bobbie Burns." 

That was thirteen years ago. 

Many more than enough to prove Bobbie Burns 
a thoroughbred by nature as well as in breeding. 
His years have proved that " blooa will tell "; that 
the collie I subsequently discovered to be directly 
descended from the great Douglas Blush, of Scot- 
land, famous bench winner of the 90's and a mother 
of many famous sons, and from a father interna- 
tionally famous, was a four-footed gentleman, fitted 
by destiny for the unique career which has been 
his. 

From the day that he followed me out of the 
hotel rotunda — at last my property as I was his — j 



12 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

the way of the four winds claimed us. Always the 
mirage of the morrow — the age-old lure of rolling 
stones — beckoned us; nor did I extract more pleas- 
ure from the cycles of restless change than did 
he. 

He was my traveling pal, my chum, my comrade. 
From coast to coast, gray Atlantic to blue Pacific; 
from the Arctic Sea to the bow of the Southern 
Gulf; from the drowsing East to the Western Front. 
So he fared with me. And now, back among the 
deep still lakes and shaggy mountains and primor- 
dial rocks of the Ontario region he loves better than 
all else in the world's weldings of loveliness and 
grandeur, he enjoys the present and muses with 
dignity upon the past. Muses deeply, with the wis- 
dom of the matured dog who has put away the ir- 
responsibility of the pup. Muses in the Northland 
wherein he will end his honorable days; known to 
all, beloved of all folk who dwell in the mining 
towns and the spreading timberlands which hedge 
them in dense circles which it will take decades of 
woodsmen's ringing axes to thin. 

Whither I went he went also; my people were 
his people; my gods his gods. Humblest — and 
proudest — of friends, he asked only to be with 
me. Whisked hither and yon to every city in 
America and Canada, he has ridden in baggage cars 
or under the car seats. He has gone down to the sea 
with me in ships. He has heeled in my tracks 
through tropical jungles or across frozen reaches. 
And finally came the great adventure, when he fol- 
lowed me through the trenches with the same non- 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 13 

chalance that he exhibited In peaceful days in trail- 
ing me through Younge Street in Toronto, Broad- 
way in New York, the Strand in London. 

Came the call to arms on August 12, 19 14, eight 
days after Great Britain declared war on Germany, 
when he set out with me on this new and strangest 
of exploits, that I knew must have occasioned him 
bewilderment, though it was not in his cool and 
steady nature to betray that feeling. Thence, 
through a series of marvelous adventures, till June 
16, 1915, when a German "sniper" winged me in 
the open at Armentieres, France. 

For a year-and-a-half, the first few months be- 
tween life and death, I was in the Netley hospital, 
and by special and unprecedented permission Bobbie 
Burns remained with me. In January, 1917, we 
sailed back to Canada; the northern region which, in 
all his wanderings, his steadfast mind had charted as 
home. No human being could have more surely 
registered delight at the return, and home we now 
are, and having grown older and therefore tired of 
wandering, his only desire is that we shall remain 
at home. 

So the present days of the sometime mascot of the 
famous Canadian regiment, " The Princess Pa- 
tricias," are peaceful. During the days of storm 
now over, no dog ever enjoyed so much of atten- 
tion, or more generously responded to sentiments of 
simple friendliness. During the dark days over- 
seas, but of darkness relieved by the lurid fire of pa- 
triotism — our mascot's noble head was caressed by 
the hands of kings and queens, of dukes and 



14 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

duchesses, of princes and the most beautiful of prin- 
cesses. Many generals, presidents, premiers, lords 
and statesmen by the score; ambassadors, plenipoten- 
tiaries and diplomats of assorted varieties, have bent 
to pat that long, lean head lighted by the dark, soft, 
wonderful eyes of infinite appeal, of infinite courage, 
of infinite faith. And, reverting to the army with 
its clash of drama and its shadows of tragedy, com- 
mandants, colonels and other officers by the hun- 
dreds, from the ends of the earth, have paid him 
the " man to man " tribute ; while as for the men o' 
the line, — God bless them! — the men o' the line he 
loved more than all others because his master was 
among them; his friendships among them were 
legion. 

All of this attention of volume unprecedented 
even among all the previous members of his famous 
tribe, Bobbie Burns accepted with the calmest dig- 
nity, the quietest of appreciation. Throughout it 
his poise was undisturbed. Of royal blood himself, 
his was the spirit of democracy that is intertwined 
with the truest of royalty in this world that is be- 
coming enlightened. 

In the quality of sagacity — a consideration far in 
advance of the possession of " show points " — 
Bobbie Burns is remarkable, even in this famed 
race of dogs. His inherent wisdom borders on hu- 
man accomplishment, and definitely surpasses it in 
some ways. It includes an uncanny " loup garou " 
knowledge, or foresight. I have no doubt that, as a 
puppy, sifted through the annual " grist mill " in op- 
eration at all kennel clubs, and sent as a gift of 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 15 

friendship to the President of the Southern Republic 
— the man who was afterward shot to death by his 
countrymen — Bobbie Burns' prophetic vision may 
have looked forward to the day when he should 
meet me and we should range the remainder of life's 
journey together. 

I have said that in some respects his knowledge 
transcends that vouchsafed the human mind. The 
true dog lover will nod his head in affirmation of 
this statement. But, for the benefit of those readers 
who know less of the four-footed noblemen and the 
fearless rangers of the dog world, I will append a 
striking illustration or two of the truth of my con- 
tention. They are incidents which have amazed 
even myself, who have known my comrade so 
well. 

Upon an occasion some years ago, in the northern 
Ontario country, in which we live and which we 
love, I was away on business for some days. No- 
body at home knew on what date I would return. 
Yet Bobbie Burns knew the day, the hour, the min- 
ute when I would come. With a certitude of inten- 
tion and movement that caused subsequent wonder- 
ment among those at home, he set out one morning 
at a steady trot for the distant station, which he 
had not visited since I had left. He was at the sta- 
tion a few minutes in advance of the locomotive 
and he greeted me as I stepped down from the 
train. The oddest part of the entire circumstance 
was that the train was an hour-and-a-half late, and 
he timed his departure from home so as to exactly 
reach it, accompanying the action by the signs of 



1 6 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

impatience which always marked his anticipation of 
my return when I had been on a journey without 
him. 

He had no calendars to guide him; no timetables 
to inform him; nothing to tell him that on that par- 
ticular day the train was late. But something told 
him that I was thinking of him, and would appear 
just when and where I did. 

Sometimes I wonder if bright dogs do not pity 
us men for our mental limitations! 

I will give another illustration, one fully as amaz- 
ing. 

Once I was prospecting in the Ontario mining 
region and started for home, catching the train at a 
lonely station. I supposed that Bobbie was under 
the seat, taking it for granted that he had preceded 
me into the car as he had always done. But I 
found that somehow he had contrived to miss the 
train. 

It was the loneliest of regions. In the case of 
most dogs, I should have settled in my mind that we 
had parted company once and for all, but I could 
not believe that I had seen the last of Bobbie. Nor 
had I. 

The train brought me home to Porcupine. Re- 
member that never before had Bobbie visited that 
rugged region with me. Yet, ten days after he 
missed the train, he trotted into Porcupine, and 
home. He upreared and flung his forepaws upon 
my shoulders, the happiest, wriggling, home-coming 
prodigal son of a collie in Canada, or in all the 
world. Meanwhile, I had burned the wires in ef- 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 17 

forts to locate him, but he would not wait to be 
found. 

In that ten days of weary traveling he had cov- 
ered two hundred miles of as rough, unbroken coun- 
try as there is in the world. It was a wilderness 
without roads or trails; a veritable black jungle un- 
iighted by sun, moon or stars. He swam wide 
brown lakes and the rapids of swiftly coursing 
rivers. Hauling himself out dripping upon the banks 
he had to nose his way through the thickest of 
tangles. He had to avoid a legion of ferocious wild 
beasts for which he would have been no match. Yet 
he arrived home unharmed, surprisingly well and 
strong, though somewhat thin and not a little 
weary. 

How, without compass or word of mouth to guide 
him, did he accomplish this master feat in woods- 
craft, that would have taxed the resource of the best 
equipped among "superior" men? He could pay 
no attention to the skies for his direction, since 
cloudy weather and the destiny of the forest forbade 
that. But something guided him; that mystic some- 
thing beyond the reach of man, who helpless, as 
Bobbie was apparently helpless, must have wandered 
in circles till he died. It was something simple to 
Bobbie, as sure as fate and as accurate as the clock 
of time. 

The means by which Bobbie accomplished this end 
is beyond the present knowledge of man, though he 
may discover it in time. What led Bobbie through 
the wilds to his home was the spirit of the homing 
pigeon which guides the bird thousands of miles to 



i8 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

its destination to its mate; to Its love. So It was 
with Bobbie. The same spirit inevitably guided him 
to the magnet of his desire. 

This mysterious knowledge, denied to man, guides 
Bobbie In the pages which follow. Through its sway 
he Is enabled to tell his story of the departed heroic 
friends who are no more of this world. The friends 
who were kind and good to him, and who he be- 
lieves know, in the life beyond this life, what he 
records of their strivings, their sorrows, their vic- 
tory in death. And those who still live after the 
travail of battle, they, too, will know In perusing 
these pages, that Bobbie understood them and the 
end they sought. 

From what I have Instanced of the uncanny knowl- 
edge of the collie, I esteem it no far stretch of the 
imagination to assume that, though in France he was 
relegated to the rear trenches, his vision compassed 
the scenes at the front, where the future of the na- 
tions, the Issue between democracy and autocracy, 
was waged. He divined their sorrows, their pleas- 
ures, their losses, their triumphs. His spirit was at- 
tuned to the message of the living — and the message 
of the dead. Through his strange knowledge, that 
is denied man, mysteries of the Infinite were plain to 
him. This elusive something peopled his Intelli- 
gence with images of truth. 

The spirits of those who had died for truth he 
saw in the air about him, a sight denied human 
eyes. Even as a dog refuses to leave his master's 
grave till death releases his spirit to join the man's, 
waiting beyond. His sympathies, of depth and 



INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 19 

breadth incalculable, described their parting mes- 
sages and now he gives them to the world. He 
translates truths dim to men, but plain to a dog of 
royal blood. 

The occult essence of knowledge has abridged the 
gap which theoretically obtains between the divin- 
ing of the dog, man's first and best friend, and his 
power to express it. 

In his dumb way Bobbie Burns thus tells his story, 
culminating in the tragic experiences of the West- 
ern Front. He has told it to me in a thousand 
mediums, and by the faith of his dark eyes I know 
that in the Scheme it has been vouchsafed him as a 
compensation for his dumbness, for his inability to 
express in speech the truth so clear to him, to see 
beyond. 

The aura of the spirit, invisible to man, is per- 
ceptible to honest, loyal, noble dogs. 

This aura, these vari-colored rays of the soul 
emanating from human bodies, this mystic com- 
posite, reveals to the dog whether the nature of the 
man, met by chance, is good or evil. I have seen 
this inevitably tested many times. The dog knows. 
Note how sure is his vision; his loving friendliness 
to men of worth; his detestation of the unworthy, 
however craftily they may seek to hide their real 
nature; a detestation shown by supreme indifference 
or disdain, or perhaps by low growls. 

From the depths of my varied experience I here 
record that I do not care much for a man's opinion 
of a dog. I am mostly interested in the dog's opiri' 
ion of the man. 



20 INTRODUCING BOBBIE BURNS 

We of the pioneer north country, the democracy 
of Ontario, love dogs. And dogs love us. 

Follows the story of " The Princess Pats " in the 
world's war for liberties, by Bobbie Burns as he 
would tell it had he " the gift of tongues." 

Jack Munroe. 
Cobalt, Ontario, Canada, 
February, 191 8. 



MOPPING UP! 

CHAPTER I 

"YOU SHALL GO!" 

SUPPOSE my eyes were getting a little green 
with jealousy as I watched the other collie, Rex, 
being fondled by Fred. I would have wriggled 
along, to try to divert Fred's attention, but the canoe 
was too cranky for such an experiment. Besides, 
had not big Pendragon, my master, my chief, told 
me to remain quiet? 

So quiet I remained, though my black nose 
twitched and my brush waved slowly and my eyes 
grew greener watching Rex whom I love, but hate 
to see fondled. I like to get all the fondling my- 
self. 

Pendragon and Rob were paddling swiftly across 
NIghthawk Lake. Of all the lakes and streams 
about which I have paddled and sniffed in this 
glorious Northland I love Nighthawk Lake the 
best. 

This lake lies a hundred miles north of Cobalt 
and two hundred miles south of Hudson Bay. It 
is cradled in wooded hills and bleak plateaus studded 



22 MOPPING UP! 

with rocks of the Lower Huronian age and the Carri- 
brlan era. 

The day was beautiful, a rare day seen only in 
late summer — and in Northern Ontario. The sky 
was a deep blue sea of peace across which white 
dream ships were sailing. The dipping paddles cut 
rippling waters as brown as the dun mantle of late 
autumn. Out from the wooded shore crept ragged, 
straggling, sinister shadows. 

Into these shadows we swept, and Rex and I, lying 
flat in the bottom of the canoe, twitched with eager- 
ness to be among our beloved thickets, exploring 
virile smells of forest and fern. 

Fred, who was in the center of the canoe, stood 
upright as Rob hallooed a welcome call that was 
flung back in weird echoes from the hills. 

"Hey, boys! There's a good spot to land and 
have tea and a brush-up before taking the train for 
home." 

Home! 

The word sounded sweet to Rex and me. For a 
month now we had been away with the men, in- 
specting prospective mines, camping where we 
chanced to be. 

With Rob's mention of " home," recalling It to us 
after a month's absence, two pairs of tufted ears 
came forward. Mine and Rex's. Did you ever no- 
tice how alert we collies look when we prick up our 
ears? 

I whined a little and Rex answered It. That Is 
how we told each other how anxious we were to 
reach home once more and see all the chickens and 



" YOU SHALL GO ! " 23 

pigeons and rabbits. Especially the rabbits. I have 
always loved to watch over them and keep away 
those other dogs who would have harmed them. 
Why, those other ignorant dogs do not know the 
difference between wild rabbits and tame ones! 
Rex and I are never so happy as when sleeping 
among our tame rabbits. 

The canoe grounded and we gained the shore. 
Rob volunteered to go for the mail at the Con- 
naught Station, a half-mile through the woods, while 
other two men made tea. 

Rex and I were busy, too. Rex had chased a 
saucy squirrel up a tree, and was disputing with 
him. Being somewhat older and more dignified 
than Rex, I watched over the food and equipment 
piled upon the shore. My squirrel days were over 
— or almost over. 

Presently, while the camp-fire was burning lustily, 
Fred stripped off his clothes and plunged into the 
lake, swimming about with much splashing and 
shoutings such as men make in the woods when 
they are feeling well. Pendragon was by the fire, 
putting tea in the pot. 

Occasionally he and Fred called cheerily to each 
other, and each encouraged Rex in the useless quest 
for the squirrel. Once Fred stood up in the water 
and playfully shied a pebble at the squirrel. He 
made no attempt to hit that impudent little ball of 
gray fluff, of course, but aimed only to encourage 
Rex in further barking. 

All was peace and the gaiety we knew so well, 
with the shadow of no sorrow or care upon the 



24 MOPPING UP! 

horizon, but In the midst of it, I was silent and de- 
pressed, lying quietly by the pile of duffle I had 
elected to guard. 

"What's the matter with Bobbie Burns?" called 
Fred suddenly, glancing at me curiously. " Sick a 
little, maybe, or just resting?" 

I was not sick, and I was not resting. On the 
contrary I was very restless inside. Why, I could 
not have told, save that I found my mind dwelling 
— or rather, waiting — for something I knew was 
coming. 

I had felt like this before; something like this. 
Sometimes It had been a portent of joy, sometimes 
of grief. But I had never known anything so heavy 
as this, so overwhelming. 

I felt, somehow, as if I — all of us — approached 
a crisis. I felt it coming, whatever it was, some 
strange, terrible, awful Thing. And as this impres- 
sion grew, such a prophetic sadness enveloped my 
spirit as it had never known. 

What was this Thing? I did not know as yet. 
But somehow I found myself sighing as I lay, and 
watching the woodland path upon which Rob had 
departed for the mail. 

Suddenly, far up the trail, my keen ear caught 
the faint crackle of shrubbery, the soft thud of 
footsteps running. Now I knew that I had been 
expecting that sound, which was the reason that I 
had been the first to hear It. 

I raised my m.uzzle, sniffing. My ears pricked 
forward. The sounds came nearer. I found my 
body tensing In an ache of suspense. 



"YOU SHALL GO!" 25 

Came an increase of the threshing in the brush 
and a loud voice hailing. The two men — my mas- 
ter by the fire and Fred in the water — turned their 
faces toward the sound. Rex turned from the 
squirrel to listen, too. 

Came the call again, nearer: 

"Boys! Oh, boys!" 

The prickling along my spine increased. I knew 
now in a measure what it meant; I had felt it be- 
fore. It was the tingle of excitement, or expecta- 
tion that had always meant for my master and for 
me the call to change, the transfer to new horizons 
in our restless journeyings through the world. But 
mixed with it now was this new element, that horror 
which I could not understand. 

Also, I had recognized the voice, at the first call. 
It was Rob's. 

For weeks we had been in the forest, cut off from 
the great outside world of people. In this time 
v/e had seen no men, white or red. I knew that it 
was some word from the cities and towns which 
now speeded Rob towards us, shouting as he 
came. 

Now this thrill of expectancy possessed not me 
alone, but all of us. 

Out from the trail Into the open space, where our 
fire was burning, bounded Rob, waving a newspaper. 
It was the Cobalt Daily Nugget, the journal of the 
miners of all the North. 

While he raced toward Pendragon at the fire; as 
Fred scrambled naked and dripping to the shore and 
ran to meet them both; Rob, who was red-faced, per- 



26 MOPPING UP! 

spiring, breathless, cried out the news for which we 
were waiting: 

"War! War, war!'' 

"What do you mean?" cried Fred, while Pen- 
dragon reached for the paper. 

''Britain's orders to the fleet!" excitedly ex- 
claimed Rob again. "Capture or destroy the 
enemy! " 

" You're joking! " gasped Fred, from whose hair, 
face and body rivulets of water were running. 

What enemy? What has happened? " 

Then my Pendy opened the paper and began to 
read aloud the big black headlines : 

"All Cables to Germany Cut" . . . "Enemy's 
Ships Cut Off "... " French Capture Many Ger- 
man Prisoners " . . . " Germany's Ultimatum to 
Belgium "... "Russia Continues Steady Advance 
in the Carpathians." 

He stopped reading. AH three looked at 
one another. "So it's Germany!" Fred mut- 
tered. 

"Here! Two more papers!" said Rob, and 
thrust them toward his two pals. I noticed his 
hand was trembling with excitement. 

They all settled down, Fred all dripping as he 
was, and silently began to read. I padded around, 
wondering what it was all about. What was this 
"war" of which they spoke? 

I was in a fine state of concern as I saw the bacon 
beginning to burn, and the tea boiling over, and no- 
body paying any attention to the dinner. 

What could this thing be that was making these 



" YOU SHALL GO ! " ^7 

big man pals of mine forget their appetites, whetted 
by many miles of forest ranging? 

The bread toasting over the fire burned up. i he 
teapot boiled dry. The bacon burned and sizzled 
and finally took fire in the pan and was consumed 
in pungent ashes. Still nobody noticed. The hre 
burned low. Now it had wholly burned away 

I never saw such changes come over the face ot 
my world in so short a time. _ 

The three men read on in silence, occasionally 
exchanging papers. Rex and I watched their faces. 
Both of us were subdued and wondering, tor m 
their faces were looks of quiet grimness we knew. 
We had seen the expression in moments that called 
for reprimanding or of punishment of dogs or ot 
men, or perhaps while shooting dangerous rapids 
when life is in the balance. 

They finished their reading together and stared 
at one another. Perhaps the reading had not taken 
them as long as it seemed to me. But it had been 
long enough for Fred's wet skin to become dry. 

"Boys," said my Pendragon, " it seems to be up 
to us, ' Soldiers three.' What?" 

For a moment they talked with one another only 
with their eyes. But because I know the speech of 
men's eyes, I knew that they all felt alike about this 
thing, whatever it was; this thing that I could feel 
ripping and tearing at the peace of the forest 

Then with a common impulse, they reached out 
their hands to one another-all three of them in a 
strong clasp, and said together, as if one voice were 
speaking: 



28 MOPPING UP! 

"We're on!" 

I was to learn that In that moment one voice had 
spoken. 

It was the voice of Canada. 

Just one other word was said, Rob spoke it as he 
sprang up : 

"Train!" 

They picked up the duffle at random and stuffed it 
into the canoe; the food and the tent and the bags of 
ore samples. But they left many things upon 
the. beach, which greatly disturbed my sense of 
order. 

Grabbing paddles, they leaped into the canoe and 
dug furiously into the brown water. The canoe 
streaked toward the station. Rex and I loped along 
the beach after it. 

We all reached the station platform just as the 
train thundered in. Many men were about; more 
than I had ever seen at that lonely station. All were 
talking of war. What was this war, I wondered 
again, which possessed such evil power of turning 
desirable things topsy-turvy? 

Usually what men v/e met, after returning from 
a sojourn in the wilds, were merry. But now every- 
body was so serious ! There was a difference in the 
very atmosphere that was depressing. 

As usual, Rex and I scrambled up the steps of the 
train in advance of our friends and crawled under 
the seats which they took. Shortly the train rambled 
on its way. How I hate the noise and bad smells 
of stuffy trains! I was glad indeed when Pendragon 
whistled us to jump off at the old home station of 



"YOU SHALL GO!" 29 

Porcupine. We romped and bounded off in great 
glee. 

The dear old home things were awaiting me. 
The barn was still there, after the month in the 
forest ledges, and the chicks and bunnies were glad 
to see me. Rex and I noticed that in our absence 
many strange dogs had impudently made themselves 
familiar about the place, but we soon made them turn 
tail, my Pendragon's home was — and is — ours 1 

For a few hours the shadow that had settled 
over my spirit, during the moment that the " sol- 
diers three " had gazed at one another and clasped 
hands, lifted, and I was blithe. I imagined that 
whatever it was that had threatened our peace — the 
life I had come to love — had fled, and that we 
would go on as we had been doing. For I had 
grown to middle age in my years of wandering, and 
when that period comes to a dog or to a man, a 
season of repose and of reflection is pleasant before 
the call comes to the next field of effort. 

But soon I realized that my Pendy did not intend 
to go on in the peaceful paths of many unbroken 
happy months in the Northland. His strange, si- 
lent, thoughtful demeanor told me this. There was 
another adventure to come — one that I somehow 
sensed would be full of weariness, of pain, of more 
sorrow than my Pendy and I had seen in our pre- 
vious farings through the fields of life. But what- 
ever it was, we would breast it together, as we had 
always done. I was resigned. 

No sooner had I made this resolution, however, 
than my soul was assailed with the crudest fear it 



30 MOPPING UP! 

had ever known or will ever know. For the first 
time since I had met, loved and followed my master 
he was planning to go away on a long journey — 
without me. 

Still and grim, my master, my king, my god, went 
about the premises, seemingly oblivious to me as I 
humbly heeled, striving for the attention now mys- 
teriously denied me. Something big and terrible and 
divine was occupying his thoughts; something, I 
knew, that was of more importance than I, and with 
that I had no quarrel. But I yearned — so much ! — 
for just a little place in his thoughts, the thoughts 
which had formerly yielded me place so command- 
ing. 

He went about town and I followed him, scarcely 
heeded by him. He went to a building and left pa- 
pers that I heard called mining claims. Then, 
too, there was some talk about a will and testa- 
ment. 

Came a night when he sat out under the stars, 
near the house. He was gazing toward the east. 
Yet somehow I knew that he was looking past the 
forests. Yes, and even past the wide waters that 
rolled beyond them. 

What did he see? I did not know; yet some- 
how, through the strange sympathy between us, I 
knew that his thoughts were of something monstrous 
and dark, the thing, of formless menace, affrighted 
me and filled me with loneliness. For I knew he 
thought of seeking and finding it — without me. 

There had been a day in the south when my will 
had demanded that he should take me to himself. 



"YOU SHALL GO!" 31 

But now, humbled with the heavy wisdom of the 
years, I no longer demanded. 

I laid my head against his knee in pleading. 

The melancholy that only the collie knows op- 
pressed me. My eyes, my wistful face, must have 
expressed all the pathos of my inner weeping. 

Up into the face of my lord I looked, my heart 
near to bursting with agony. I knew he meant to 
go — somewhere — without me. With the only lan- 
guage I knew — the moan of the spirit — I was 
begging to be remembered, to be taken with 
him. 

He felt the pressure of my head against his knee. 
Rather absently he looked down at me. 

His big hand caressed my head. Still I looked 
up at him in the moonlight; looked with all my soul. 
I sought to impart my longing to go with him 
wherever he might go; over whatever hill or 
through whatever valley; to share life or death with 
him. 

Now my heart gave a suffocating throb of sus- 
pense. 

Hungrily I watched that responsive something I 
had been seeking, now kindled in his face. 

I knew that at last his thoughts had definitely 
returned to me — and that he understood me. 

Tensed, waiting, suffering with suspense, I looked 
up at him while his hand stroked my head. 

" So that's it! " he said, his tone a little wonder- 
ing. " You want to go across with me. Eh, 
Bobbie?" 

Like a tremendous flood, hope surged within me. 



32 MOPPING UP! 

I stood stock-still, trembling, my ears thrusting for- 
ward. 

His face was grave as his eyes gazed into mine 
under the starlight. " Boy," he said, " you don't 
know how awful is this thing you want." 

I only trembled the more; willed the harder — 
and appealed. What did I care how awful it might 
be? If he could go, why not I? 

He sighed — and decided. " Well, I hardly know 
how I am to take a dog over there. But I can't re- 
sist you. I never could. 

" Bobbie, old fellow, you shall go ! " 



CHAPTER II 
BOBBIE BURNS, MASCOT 

TO hear that I was going seemed to surprise 
all my friends in Porcupine. Evidently they 
had supposed that no dogs would be allowed 
to go to war. 

So I was immediately in receipt of more attention 
than ever, which did not displease me at all. 

I spent my time trotting about the community, 
bidding everybody and everything good-bye. 

It seemed, indeed, that this was no ordinary trip 
I was going on, and there was much talk of this 
mysterious war. And they were expressing the hope 
that no harm would come to the men of the region 
who were going, nor to me. 

In a few days came the leavetaking. I went for 
a last word with Rex, who was tied up. 

While we were snuggling in each other's necks, 
after the manner of dogs, I told Rex how sorry I 
was to go alone. Rex could not understand. There 
were a dozen men in the little group at the station, 
waiting for the train which should bear us south- 
ward. Hundreds of friends had accompanied our 
group there. I was patted and stroked on all sides. 

However, I wondered what mysterious reason 
there was for all this fuss over what seemed to me 
an ordinary trip. We were taking no tents, no 



34 MOPPING UP! 

blankets, no canoe. The men of the group carried 
only light grips. Yet I had heard we were to be 
away for a long time! What did it all mean? I 
was being taken along, and that was all I cared for. 
Sufficient unto the morrow was the next day. 

The train rolled into the station and I clawed up 
the steps ahead of my Pendy. Be sure that I never 
missed a train but once ! That one time cost me a 
long journey through the wilds, for many anxious 
days and black nights, before I found my 
master. 

As the train started I heard the people outside 
cheering, and they were still cheering as long as I 
could hear them. Then, as I lay curled under a car 
seat, there was only the clackety-click of the train 
and the hum of talk throughout the car. All of the 
talk concerned this war, a non-understandable sub- 
ject over which I had puzzled my brain till I had 
given it up. I had decided I must wait to find what 
war was. 

Many other men, it seemed, were going where 
our Procupine group intended going. At every suc- 
ceeding station along the line were other wild 
crov/ds cheering. Yet, as it had been at Porcupine, 
mingled with the cheering there was sadness, and 
some there were who took leave of the little groups 
in silence, and with tears running down their faces. 
It was surely a most perplexing jumble, and I could 
make nothing of it! 

Other men kept boarding the train, and the cheer- 
ing continued as the train left each station. I soon 
grew tired of this and wished that my Pendy would 



BOBBIE BURNS, MASCOT 35 

give up whatever Idea he had, and go back home 
with me. I would have liked to meet Rex just then, 
and have said : " Cheer up ! You have not missed 
so much after all. Here I am returned, and glad 
to be!" 

All day long we traveled in that stuffy train. At 
noon Pendragon got me some water, and as I lapped 
It thirstily I felt my spirits reviving. 

At last we reached a station called North Bay, 
which seemed to be quite a busy community. At 
the usual signal I crawled from under the seat and 
left the train with the others. Never had I seen 
such a throng in the station in the Northland. It 
reminded me of the crowded platforms in San Fran- 
cisco, or Chicago, or New York where I had been 
in previous years. 

I gathered from the talk that hundreds of men 
were waiting for the same train that we were. Men 
and women, and some children, were scampering 
here and there, chattering of that same subject, the 
war. They told of terrible fighting and loss of 
life. 

" I tell you, it's up to us Canucks to give the 
Germans a taste of their own medicine! " one man 
shouted. I shuddered at this. Pendragon had given 
me medicine more than once, and how I hated the 
taste of it! Those poor Germans were in for a 
disagreeable time, I reflected. But then, I had al- 
ways felt better after being given medicine, and 
doubtless It would be the same way with the Ger- 
mans. 

The men were asking when the train for Ottawa 



2S MOPPING UP! 

would leave, and a man with brass buttons and with 
a pleasing voice replied that it would leave at about 
ten o'clock that night. 

We strolled about the village. I met many dogs 
— good-natured ones and simple ones — and we 
played along the road. I like dogs of this descrip- 
tion; there are so few playful dogs round about 
Porcupine. There they are more like the Indian 
" husky " kind, with sly and treacherous views to- 
ward everyone, and always waiting to overwhelm 
and devour anything and everyone not too strong 
to resist them. 

We met many friends and acquaintances here and 
there through the village, and all wished us luck and 
a safe return. 

We wandered back to the station just as the train 
arrived. 

Shortly the train sped on its way. My alert brain 
soon discovered that we were spinning along in a 
different direction than before. 

Pendy grinned at me in the morning as I crawled 
from under the seat, a little ashamed to have been 
so lazy. 

"What's the matter, Bobbie?" he asked me. 
*' Been dreaming? Well, stir yourself, old chap. 
Ottawa and breakfast ! " 

I barked joyously as I followed him out. 

After about a mile of walking, and some inquiries, 
we soon found ourselves in large, well-kept, open 
grounds, with nice short grass growing all about 
and spacious buildings. I found this enclosure was 
called the Exhibition Grounds. And directly I 



BOBBIE BURNS, MASCOT 37 

was startled and dismayed for a while, the result of 
a sight such as I had never imagined. 

All about were men — thousands of them, it 
seemed to me — and in a strange brown dress, look- 
ing all alike. There was a grimness, a severity, 
about this garb that gave me a sense of strangeness. 
More than that; it frightened me. They looked to 
me, in this first sight of them, like creatures from 
a world other than the realms I had always 
known. 

I had lost sight of Pendragon, and a group of the 
brown men suddenly espied me, and beckoned to me, 
whistling and calling. Instead of coming confidently 
to them, as I usually did with men, I sidled away, 
trying feebly to wag my tail, so they would not wish 
to harm me. They look so fierce and strange ! 

As I tried to leave them they came toward me 
the faster, at which I started to run away from 
them. I ran right into the arms of one of them, 
that I had not seen, but whom I found the other 
men called " Joe." 

How I have wished since that I had chanced to 
hear Joe's full name, so I could give it to you I For 
he is the man who gave me the other name, that at 
first sounded so strange to me. 

However, I was much frightened at first, and 
cowered down as he caught me, and looked up at 
him. He had on a trim brown cap, like the others, 
and a buttoned brown jacket and full trousers to 
the knee, and the calves of his legs were all wound 
around, down to his russet shoes, with lapped brown 
cloth that they called puttees. 



38 MOPPING UP! 

He held me with big hands while I trembled. 
He spoke to me : 

"Why, old fellow! You're a lovely son of a 
pup, aren't you? " 

The admiring tone, and the voice of kindness, 
sounded natural. They were what I was used to. 
I looked deep into his face. His eyes were nice, 
too; they were like Rob's or Fred's. 

" Hey, boys ! " he called again. " Come here and 
meet the new pal, the Mascot of the Princess Pats, 
God bless us ! Mascot, meet the boys ! " 

They crowded around me, a brown cloud of them; 
exclaiming, laughing, fondling me who had just been 
christened with my second name. A name I grew 
to love almost as much as my first. 

Under their petting, however, the face of my 
world regained its wonted cordiality. After all, 
these strange beings called soldiers were my friends 
as truly as the men I had known in the peace world ! 
I was much relieved and very happy. I wriggled so 
hard, in the attempt to show contrition for having 
misjudged them through their fierce appearance, 
that I suppose I looked like a salmon-colored accor- 
deon in action. 

The word traveled through the grounds that the 
Princess Pats had a new and beautiful mascot, and 
for some time I held a regular levee. I was grabbed 
by one, then another and still another, till it seemed 
the whole world was handling me. 

They all left after a time — it seemed that they 
were called away for something — and I found op- 
portunity to look about me and to reflect. So this 



BOBBIE BURNS, MASCOT 39 

was what the army was like ! Well, I was already 
fond of it. This colored clothing — " khaki " I 
heard it called — which had at first oppressed me, I 
now found quite cheerful in tone, since it was in- 
habited by such fine fellows, who received me as a 
comrade. 

If this was war, why, I had as soon be at war 
always. But I could not understand the sympathy 
and the good-fellowship in it. I could not recon- 
cile it with the sinister premonition I had felt as 
Rob came running through the forest with his news 
of war. Anything black or sinister? Why, this 
ROW seemed a joke ! To be sure, it was a little 
rough. I had been petted so much and so hard 
that my skin was sore. But there was no hate in 
this, but only exuberant love, for which I enter- 
tained no rancor. 

Never, I was sure, had anyone encountered such 
a nice bunch of men before, and I the only dog 
there, too ! 

I could see nothing in this war business to warrant 
tears or sympathy. Certainly everybody seemed to 
be enjoying himself, and not one of them more 
than I. We all had much good food and good 
water, fine baths in the canal in the mornings, a 
daily grand march out to the country, and much 
company and a variety of quietude and noise. Could 
anybody enjoy more harmonious and enjoyable ex- 
istence? 

Speaking of noise and harmony reminds me of 
the Princess Pats' famous bagpipe band. I re- 
garded the outpourings of that organization with 



40 MOPPING UP! 

the most amazing contrast of emotions. It de- 
pended upon when I heard it. 

I cannot explain the difference, but when the 
boys were marching, and I trotted along with them 
to the music of that band, it seemed harmony to me. 
But when the band just stood quietly in the grounds 
and played, it seemed to me just noise. How I 
hated those strains in that moment! Such whinings 
and bowlings as those bagpipes then made ! They 
could never be matched in any throat of my breed! 

This brings me to the recording of what was a 
passing anxiety of mine. 

In touch with the soldiers, loving them all and 
the new life, I became concerned with the fear that 
perhaps my Pendragon was not going to remain 
with them, after all. For, though all the others 
wore these soldier clothes of brown, and though 
Fred and Bob who had come with him also wore 
them — Pendy was still in the clothes in which he 
had come from Porcupine. 

Could it be, I wondered, that he had decided to 
go back to Porcupine, and take me? I hoped not; 
I had grown to like this soldier life so well. 

But one morning he appeared in khaki, like the 
others, and I was overjoyed. I ran to him, and 
smelled him, and they looked him over with my 
head on one side. Then I upreared with my fore- 
paws on his breast and smiled at him. It seemed to 
me that his khaki suit was the finest I had ever seen 
him wear. 

From the jokes of Fred and Rob, who were with 
him, I found he had been obliged to wait for his 



BOBBIE BURNS, MASCOT 41 

uniform. There had been no suit in stock large 
enough for him. 

After this, reassured that we were to stay in 
this lovely war, I feit very happy and important as 
I trotted away toward the gate of the grounds. 



CHAPTER III 
** A SACK OF POTATOES " 

1IFE was certainly a merry song at the Exhibi- 
tion Grounds for a few days. Many people 
came to see us and called us " The P.P.C.L. 
I's," which did not take as long to say as The Prin- 
cess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. And 
" mascot " took even less time to say, which may 
have been the reason everybody said it, 

I grew to like that name " Mascot." It held a 
certain ring I liked, as did everybody else. Colonels, 
majors, captains, lieutenants, and many kinds of ser- 
geants; yes, and noted people of every description, 
even titled royalty, went to much trouble to speak 
to me. 

My friends, the soldiers, were always showing 
how many tricks I could do. I was proud to dis- 
play my cleverness, as I am sure I can do as many 
tricks, as any other dog can do. For instance — to 
bring the men's boots, their slippers or caps, and 
return them to where they were; that is something 
not many dogs can do the way I do it. I also close 
the door, and bring my own comb and put it back 
where I got it from. I sit up; I stand like a person; 
I walk around on two legs; et cetera. 

The boys were delighted with my tricks, and to 
satisfy them they had to be done over and over. 

42 



" A SACK OF POTATOES " 43 

I got a little tired of them, and soon grew careless 
and didn't mind whether I did them correctly or 
not. But they seemed to appreciate them just as 
much whether they were done or half done. 

In this matter of my tricks, I have never been so 
ready with them since those days. Pendragon has 
said since that I received too much attention, that 
I was spoiled. But I don't think it was so much 
that. Every day we grow older, you know. And 
when a dog is old, the smart tricks of his youth 
rather bore him. I have heard that it is the same 
with men. 

Food and water were offered me every minute in 
the day by someone. After a while I would refuse 
to eat except when the others were eating. I wanted 
to be like everyone else, and sleep and eat when 
they did; to be one of and with them. It grew so, 
while I tried to be like them as much as I could, 
that I thought perhaps I was beginning to look like 
them. I was their " Mascot " — and their Mascot 
I shall remain in memory, though the majority lie 
under mounds " over there." 

In a few days all the men from Porcupine, with 
whom I had come, were dressed in this brown stuff 
called khaki. By now I loved all the men garbed 
in it. They smelled the same and were just as fine 
as when in the garb of peace I had known all 
my life. But when I grew used to the khaki, it 
seemed no other color would do. 

I would follow one of them the same as another, 
and recognized each and every one of them. No 
matter where I encountered them, I knew them by 



44 MOPPING UP! 

the camp scent and welcomed them. The boys 
thought my facility very strange, but they failed to 
appreciate the subtlety of my sensitive nose. In this 
organ of mine, every twitch has its meaning. 

We left Ottawa August 29. Never shall I for- 
get the excitement of that day. 

It was a gloriously beautiful morning. The city 
was early astir. 

The members of our bagpipe band tuned up at 
daybreak. How I hated that fiendish noise ! 

At last the regiment was lined up to be inspected 
by Colonel Farquahar. This took some time and 
was quite fatiguing. We had to stand at attention 
in the heat of the sun, obeying many boisterous and 
pedantic commands by the various newly made 
majors, lieutenants and N. C. O.'s. 

Finally we were lined up and marched away at 
a fast pace. We Vv^ere to take a special train at the 
station for Montreal, and there board a transport 
for France. 

We marched between solid walls of people, 
banked on either side of the streets. It must have 
been two miles to the station. It was a long, tire- 
some, noisy tramp. In it I found only this com- 
fort; that everybody noticed me. All seemed to 
have heard of the Mascot of the Princess Pats. 

Moreover, my new friends had decked me for 
the occasion. The regimental colors of navy-blue 
and maroon, were tied in beautiful bows of ribbon 
about my neck and body. 

It was a hot and stuffy day, but In the deafening 
cheering, the playing of many bands and the con- 



" A SACK OF POTATOES " 45 

fusion on all sides, we forgot our discomfort. At 
last we reached the station. 

There — but it is difficult for me to describe the 
mad capers of the huge masses of people that pushed 
and scrambled about and around us. Their moods 
were so strangely various. Many of the faces were 
sad and long and tear-stained. Others were 
crinkled with smiles or laughter. Some wore blank 
expressions of curiosity. Still others were singing 
and cheering. But the strangest folk to me were 
those who laughed and cried at the same time! 

They would cry a while and then laugh; short, 
silly, little laughs, and then they would cry and 
suddenly burst out in a mad "Hooray!" And it 
went on in this way till we boarded the train. 

There was nothing to laugh at, and certainly 
nothing to cry over, so far as I could see. There 
seemed to be nothing to eat and nothing to drink, 
and I was hot, hungry and thirsty. However, I 
reflected that my soldier friends were probably the 
same, and if they could endure it, I could. 

I was leaving Ottawa with regret, which I knew 
was shared by my comrades. Everybody had been 
so kind to us ! The fond memories of all survivors 
of the P.P.C.L.I.'s will always revert to the 
August of 19 14, in Ottawa. 

The train started amid great excitement. The 
men and women who had been waiting for this 
moment yelled and waved their hands. Hats, hand- 
kerchiefs, umbrellas, coats; anything and every- 
thing were hysterically thrown high in air. All 
seemed mad, either with joy or grief; perhaps both. 



46 MOPPING UP! 

We left Ottawa and the train went speeding along 
through the peaceful Canadian countryside. It was 
the next step in a fascinating adventure. In four 
hours we stopped again at a crowded station. 

Such was the throng that we could hardly get out 
of the train. The noises were even louder, if pos- 
sible, than those I had heard at the Ottawa station. 

There was much commotion and uncertainty as 
the boys " numbered off." Few knew their places, 
and those who did, it seemed to me, had to be told 
many times before taking their proper positions. 
The orders, " Form Fours," and " Quick March," 
found that many of the less experienced men were 
where they ought not to have been. 

At last order was obtained and we passed out 
through the Iron gates and upon the street. I was 
taken along behind the others. I would rather have 
been in front, but had not the initiative. A leash, 
held in firm but gentle hands, decided where and 
how I should dog-trot at all times. 

We marched perhaps a mile through cheering 
thousands. The vocal noise was aided and abetted 
by the blare of bands. 

We finally arrived at a pier In front of a very 
large boat. 

Right here I got the scare of my life. For a 
while it looked as if I were to be left alone and 
friendless in a strange city. 

My soldiers three, Pendragon and Rob and Fred, 
were standing together with me, when up to them 
on the pier came the O.C. He cast a look at me. 

" What's this? " he asked curtly. 



" A SACK OF POTATOES " 47 

*' He's the Mascot of the Princess Pats, sir," 
proudly replied Rob, while he saluted. 

" He'll have to be left here," answered the O.C. 

"Why — why, sir?" gasped Fred, his face the 
picture of dismay. 

" It would be no use taking him aboard. They 
wouldn't let you land him in England, or in France, 
either." And the O.C. walked away, leaving my sol- 
diers three staring at one another, and I at them. 

Fred was the first to recover from the general 
chagrin. A glow of inspiration Hghted his eyes. 
He grabbed Pendragon by the shoulder and leaned 
forward. 

" England and France are problems to be settled 
later. Jack," he said. " The first is right now, and 
I think I have the answer. What do you think of 
this plan?" And with a quick glance around, he 
whispered it behind his hand. 

Pendragon nodded and beckoned for me to heel 
him. He walked toward a pile of gunny sacks, such 
as are used to put potatoes in, a short distance away. 

" Now, Bobbie," said my Pendy gravely, " listen 
to me ! You are to keep perfectly quiet." 

At which he picked me up by the scruff of the 
neck, dropped me in the sack and slung me over his 
shoulder. 

My feelings at such undignified treatment may be 
imagined. A collie of the most royal blood of the 
Scottish Highlands crumpled in catch-as-catch-can 
fashion into a potato bag. 

Amazement, wrath, chagrin, struggled in my mind 
as I reposed in a heap at the bottom of that sack. 



48 MOPPING UP! 

I was twisted and doubled till I was chewing my 
own brush. Just one consideration prevented me 
from howling my resentment at this unwonted han- 
dling. I remembered the warning words of Pen- 
dragon; and I had never disobeyed a word of his. 

Meanwhile, with these conflicting thoughts racing 
through my mind, my Pendragon was tramping 
somewhere with me in the bag over his shoulder. 
From their voices I knew that Rob and Fred were 
with him. 

From the upward trend, I soon knew we were 
proceeding up an inclined plane, which I afterward 
learned was called a gang-plank. Then we halted 
suddenly. 

" What have you got there? " asked a gruff voice. 

Pendragon's voice answered him. 

"Extra kit, sir!" 

" Carry on ! " replied the gruff voice. 

So Pendy and Rob and Fred, with myself as the 
" extra kit," passed into the transport, no longer 
molested. 

Here you have the full story of an incident which 
the lips of thousands of soldiers have retailed in 
great glee, one mouth to the other. How the Mas- 
cot of the Princess Pats was lugged aboard the trans- 
port at Montreal as " an extra kit," befooling wary 
officials, but feeling not a bit " cocky " about it, but 
instead like a bally rot of potatoes! I feel indig- 
nant yet, every time I think of it! 

My soldiers three walked along till I felt the 
sack lowered from Pendragon's shoulder to the 
floor. The top of it was opened and I emerged. 



" A SACK OF POTATOES " 49 

We were in a small stateroom. " Go under that 
bed, Bobble, and keep quiet! " I was ordered. Obe- 
diently I complied, and remained there for several 
hours, without noise, till I felt the boat start to 
move amid the shrieking of whistles from other 
boats and the city. 

Then I was taken out and brought to another 
part of the transport and tied to a large box. 

I remained tied to this box all night. There was 
the fussing and fuming and stamping of many horses 
on the upper deck with me ; they seemed very much 
frightened at the strangeness of their surroundings. 
Perhaps war was not so lovely, after all ! I could 
not understand why we had not remained in 
Ottawa ! 

Came daylight, when I was almost exhausted. 
One of my friends came to me with something to eat 
and drink. My spirits revived; it is surprising what 
a difference some interior refreshment will make in 
a fellow's feelings ! 

I knew we were still near shore, as I could scent 
the land, on both sides of the boat. Home, sweet 
home, ran my thought; would I ever be home in the 
Northland again? 

Perhaps this thing was not the roseate vision I 
had pictured while In Ottawa, I reflected, but I 
would stick it ! I would never desert my friends. 
Besides, I had the utmost faith that all would come 
out right In the end. 

During the day I was untied and allowed to run 
about the deck, and then I felt much better. I 
rambled about with the boys, one after another, try- 



50 MOPPING UP! 

ing my best to be one of them, their comrade, as al- 
ways. 

At last I heard rumors of our landing, and I was 
glad. The transport almost stopped, and we pre- 
pared to disembark, but that welcome privilege did 
not come as soon as we expected. We spent two 
nights on that old boat, waiting for orders. 

At last came the day we left the boat, about ten 
o'clock of a beautiful September morning. I heard 
them saying we were going ashore for only a few 
days, and would then continue on the water jour- 
ney. 

I hoped we would be ashore longer than *' a few 
days." I was so tired of that boat. 



CHAPTER IV 
FIRST VICTORY! 

IN great glee I followed Pendy, Rob and Fred, 
who were together, down the gang-plank. The 
whole battalion was leaving the boat. The 
smell of the land in my nostrils was sweet. 

We proceeded to an open space, a sort of field 
nearby. Here, in a very few moments, occurred the 
first victory of the Princess Pats in the world's war. 
No cables carried the news of it around the globe, 
but the tongues of men have since done so. 

I accompanied my soldiers to the field. It chanced 
that I was not on the leash. In the brief interval 
before my comrades came to attention I became con- 
scious of that strange feeling which always warns me 
when something out of the ordinary is about to occur. 

The space to which we had repaired was only a 
short distance from the pier. The men were all in 
line and standing at attention, waiting for the orders 
of Colonel Farquahar. And with my sensitiveness, 
you may well believe that I was quiet and tensed 
with the others. 

At which moment of all moments, a " lowbrow " 
of the canine tribe elected to jump me. 

Not by word nor by look had I given that brute 
provocation ! 

I never sav/ him till he was leaping at me. I was 
standing at the extreme right of the front line, not 

51 



52 MOPPING UP! 

far from Pendy. My thoughts were fixed on the 
coming order of the Colonel, who was sitting on a 
noble horse in front of the regiment. 

Suddenly, in the midst of this premonitory calm, 
the tail of my eye caught a sight which at once ex- 
plained my '' loup garou '' feeling as I left the boat. 

From the side opposite the men — I had not no- 
ticed the enemy's presence at all — a big, brown, un- 
wieldy body was hurtling In air, charging at me. 

The single flash of my eye, turned that way even 
as I acted, was sufficient, even in this Instant of sur- 
prise, to measure my unexpected foe and to enable 
me properly to protect myself. 

He was a fierce, lumbering, coarse-haired dog of 
all sorts, which is to say a mongrel. From the 
scars on his heavy face and fat body I caught that 
he had indulged in many fights; though, being a 
mongrel, it may be that his ambition transcended 
his performances. At any rate, he was twice my 
size — and twice as slow. His clumsiness was piti- 
ful! 

He had made this leap at me. As he landed he 
brought his forepaws down hard, thinking to crush 
my back under his weight, and his jaws snapped 
together, aimed at my neck. 

But my back was not there to be crushed. All 
his snapping jaws got of my neck was a mouthful 
of fur, which was still gagging him at the end of 
the combat. 

As I swerved, I threw all my weight against his 
body, in an instinctive trick that is as old as the 
collie tribe, and toppled him neatly on his back. 



FIRST VICTORY! 53 

He now presented a ludicrous picture, all four paws 
waving up at me in token of surrender, a sudden 
look on his surprised face which I was to remember 
later on the Western Front, when I should hear 
captured Germans crying: " Merci, Kamerad!" 
among their downflung arms. 

There was a " yellow streak " in that mongrel. 
Already, with the first reverse, he was begging for 
quarter. 

But at this moment there was no mercy in my 
heart. There are folk who may pet a collie for a 
lifetime, and know only the loving side of him. 
But when chance called out the elementals, such 
people would realize him a many-sided dog. 

Just now I was raging; with that cold, calm, cruel 
rage that is so much more deadly than hot unrea- 
soning anger of blindness that is apt to defeat the 
very purpose of the wrath. 

It was a rage of calculation. I knew just what 
I would do and how I would do It. It was a raging 
against the injustice of this unprovoked attack 
against me who had not harmed him; the blazing 
resolution that he would never try it again. 

While I swiftly overtoppled him, holding him 
struggling while his forepaws vainly beat against 
my deep, shaggy breast and his mutterings pleaded 
for mercy from a fellow-being he had sought to 
destroy, I did not make a sound. I was reserving 
my force for an end more useful. 

Even as he began the drumbeat with his paws, my 
long lean jaws darted swift as flame to his exposed 
soft neck. My teeth clicked home, deep in his 



54 MOPPING UP! 

throat. He howled in agony; I drove them in the 
deeper, and reveled in the hot taste of his blood. 

Around me I was conscious of a tremendous up- 
roar. All the fierce, exultant, fighting blood of my 
Scottish clans, the primal law of force, the birth- 
right of cunning and of might, welled within me. 
I was conscious of only one thought; it had been 
his life or mine — and now it would be his! 

Now, with him completely in my power; assured 
of my vengeance for the wrong he had attempted, 
over the clear film of my thinking grew a red haze 
as my grip strengthened. Twice I shook my shaggy 
head, gaining a more deadly hold. Now, as if I had 
visioned them in dreams, gleamed about me the 
faces of men; strained and tensed and eager and 
exultant; men who had caught the subtle essence of 
the swift and unexpected drama; men whose imagi- 
nations caught the imperious demand of this law of 
life; the blow for the blow. As I worried that fat 
neck, sounded the bellows of satisfaction and encour- 
agement about me. 

At a still sharper howl from the prostrate mon- 
grel a mighty grasp clutched me by the neck; a man's 
grasp; while a stentorian voice roared above the 
tumult an order I had no choice but to obey. For 
the hand and the voice were those of Pendragon. 

"Bobbie! Let go!" 

I suppose that no gourmand ever exchanged his 
prodigal menus for the bread and water of jail 
fare with more regret than I let go of the fat and 
gory neck of that miserable, overgrown, cowardly 
bully of a mongrel! 



FIRST VICTORY! ss 

With one last shuddering, snarling, resigned sigh, 
however, I did it. 

He hurried away, unfollowed by regrets, on four 
shaky legs and with the blood streaming from his 
neck. And I found myself, with some surprise at 
this swift return to complete sanity at the summons 
from Pendy, the recipient of a popular ovation. 

It seemed that the incident " had broken up the 
meeting," as one of the boys said afterward. At 
the clashing of my rival and myself the regimental 
ranks had broken and men had come running to see. 
No dog fight every had a more appreciative gallery, 
nor one in which partisanship was more one-sided. 
For every blessed man jack of that khaki crew was 
for the Mascot. 

Though I was bloody-jawed, they seized me, and 
hugged me, and manhandled me, and cheered me, 
and roared for me with cries like these : 

" First victory for the Princess Pats ! " . . . 
"Did you see Fritzie get the run?" . . . "Give 
me a hug at him; don't be a damned hog! "... 
"Hi! throw him here!" . . . "Jack, what the 
bloody hell did you want to stop it for? Since when 
didn't you approve of a fight?" . . . "Took him 
a half-minute, too; and him half the size! It was 
over before it begun!" . . . "Come here, old 
leather-belly, an' leave me crack your ribs! "... 
"He's all pep and all pepper; he was raised on 
both! "... "Well, God bless his dog soul, he's a 
soldier, too! " 

So they passed me around, shouting and laughing, 
as if I were the inflated leather in a basketball game, 



S6 MOPPING UP! 

while every splendid fellow among them forgot all 
about where he was, or why he was there, in the joy 
of congratulating me ! 

And even while I was being passed along in this 
renewed adulation which I loved, and tossed bodily 
from hand to hand, my brain — always busy — 
whelmed with wonder at a new truth. For I re- 
called the tensed, grim, sparkling faces of my sol- 
dier friends while I was throttling the mongrel; I 
coupled that memory with what was passing now; 
and at last I had found the great and perplexing 
truth I had been seeking. 

I had wondered what war was. Now I knew. 
It had been war when I had been at the throat of 
the mongrel who had so wickedly assaulted me when 
I had not harmed him. 

At last I had the explanation. The sympathy, the 
present remarks of the boys rendered it. I knew 
the meaning of the brown suits of severe appear- 
ance; the strange weapons; the drillings; all the 
pomp and the panoply and the discipline; the con- 
stant progress, somewhere. 

I had seen no war yet. I had given my friends 
their first taste of war, kindling their enthusiasm; 
making them look forward to something they meant 
to do somewhere; something like what / had just 
done. We had seen no war yet; we were just pre- 
paring. 

Somewhere some big mongrels of men must have 
attacked littler dogs of nations, and we were going 
to fight for the little dogs ! It was a wonderfully 
inspiring thought. I thrilled at it, even before they 



FIRST VICTORY! 57 

put me down again on the ground as some of the 
officers came pushing into the ranks. 

During the brief time that this scene had re- 
quired we had all forgotten about the Colonel. 
But now everybody remembered, and as the men 
quickly went back to their places, many glances were 
stolen in his direction. But everybody was imme- 
diately reassured, and broad grins traveled back 
and forth through the lines. 

For, though he continued to sit his horse with 
dignity unrelaxed, Colonel Farquahar, an imposing 
and truly military figure, had deigned to laugh in 
pure enjoyment of the situation and in appreciation 
of the regiment's first victory. And I knew posi- 
tively that it was all right, for, as I, too, stole a 
glance at him, he winked at me with understanding 
that assured me that I would be subjected to none 
of the regulation field punishments. 

So, while I licked the blood from my jaws upon 
some nice grass that was still green, though autumn 
had commenced, I marveled at the discovery I had 
made. And I was so proud that my forefathers for 
centuries past had raised me to become a soldier, 
and to win the first victory for the Princess Pats 
even before they got to their part of the war ! 

I was glad I had been able to show my courage, 
and what I could do in the fighting. Of course, I 
do not pick quarrels, and I would not be fool enough 
to imagine I could whip a bear, but if I was cornered 
by some monster, and had to fight — well, I would 
die fighting, anyway! And I have heard that is 
the ultimate test of a dog, or of a man. 



58 MOPPING UP! 

We marched perhaps three miles through a beau- 
tiful country, in which the leaves of the soft maples 
of Canada were already turning, and up on top of 
a large hill called Fort Levis. We were given many 
tents, hundreds of them, and roundabout there were 
lovely green fields in which I loved to play, and 
through which oftentimes sundry of my brown-clad 
friends would romp with me when their duties did 
not confine them to camp. 

How I enjoyed our stay there ! But many of 
my comrades in khaki were dissatisfied and angry 
because they were not getting to the front. I heard 
them talking about it. 

They complained that the war would be over be- 
fore they would be given a chance. 

" We would rather have war than this sort of 
thing! " they said. " That would be the real stuff! 
We want to help lick Heinie ! Why all this working 
and drilling when we might have all the real fight- 
ing? They're using us as if we were rookies! 
had years of that kind of work; we don't want to 
start all over again! " 

Poor boys of mine ! You saw the real fighting 
you wanted, and the God of Battles Who is also 
the God of Love knows how bravely you fought. 
And He alone knows, I think, just how many of 
you are still at the front, under the mounds of 
grasses marked with little crosses of wood. And 
He knows how well you fare, after the supreme 
sacrifice, in the fields of peace that lie beyond the 
rivers of blood and the briny walls of tears ! 



CHAPTER V 
I PLEASE THE LADIES 

SOON came a day, during our stay at Fort Levis, 
when I was taken to a house where I met many 
beautiful ladies. It was rather a new social 
experience for me, since I had always been a sort 
of man's dog. But I met the situation with my 
usual poise, and in being introduced to the ladies I 
maintained my ordinary kindly dignity, which they 
seemed to find fascinating. 

One of these ladies, and of the most beautiful of 
them, made a very special fuss over me. I noted 
that she was called a " Princess." I was given a 
very beautiful collar with a badge on it, and on the 
plate were engraved the words : 

BOBBIE BURNS. P.P.C.L.I. 

One dark lady, of extreme attractiveness, grabbed 
me around the neck and seemed very fond of dogs 
like me. She exclaimed that " she wished I belonged 
to her." Altogether, the women seemed to think 
as much of me as the men did, and my usual reci- 
procity policy was immediately in effect. There is 
room in my heart for love of a great many people, 
in addition to the supreme place that is for my 
Pendragon alone. So I added the love for all these 

59 



6o MOPPING UP! 

nice women to that for the many fine men I had 
known. 

A kind woman they called Lady F. buckled the 
new collar around my neck and locked It. I ab- 
sorbed all the honeyed sayings and the stroklngs. 
My picture was taken In many poses, and I sat 
very still, which seemed to cause them much won- 
derment. 

"Isn't he well marked?" asked the beautiful 
dark lady. " I didn't know till now that he had 
such a lovely sable color ! And that white ruff about 
his neck; Isn't It picturesque?" 

"What an aristocrat he Is!" marveled one of 
them. At which I recalled a remark one of my 
khaki Canuck friends had made to me before I 
started on this call. " Bobble," he said, " you're 
going to meet the aristocrats to-day. So be on your 
good behavior." 

I shall always remember the happy days I spent 
at Fort Levis — though when the time came to leave 
it, I did so without whining but looked forward 
with eagerness to the next adventure. 

The route marches we took through the country 
had always their exciting moments. I enjoyed every 
yard of the way. I grew, more and more fascinated 
with the sight of khaki. Not only would I fol- 
low It anywhere, but I would not glance at a person 
who was not encased in It — except the ladies. 

One day, when down in the village of Levis, I 
met a soldier In khaki. He was unusually kind, even 
for such a brown-clad comrade. I thought he was 
one of my " Pat's Pets " friends In khaki, and would 



I PLEASE THE LADIES 6i 

soon take me back to the camp from which I had 
strayed, but I shortly found he was taking me to 
Quebec, instead. I could not resist him then as he 
had me tied to a rope, and he took me all the way to 
Valcartier. 

I feared I would never rejoin the friends at Levis, 
and although I was well treated, I felt lost without 
them around me. In fact, " lost " was the word. 
I fretted; was sick and irritated; I could not eat nor 
sleep. I wanted my Pendy and his comrades — and 
mine. 

Then one day, as if by magic, appeared one of 
those comrades of the Princess Pats. Frantic with 
joy, I bounded in glee. I laughed and barked and 
jumped. Do you think dogs cannot laugh? Well, 
I laughed that day! 

I leaped up and put my arms around my friend's 
neck in ecstasy. And here is a strange thing that 
my comrades could never understand. 

How did I know the man from the Princess 
Pats, even before he saw me, and before I saw his 
face, for I knew him at a distance? And how did 
I know the man who was keeping me, though he 
was a soldier in the same kind of uniform my Pats 
were wearing, was not a "Pat?" So that he al- 
ways seemed wholly a stranger to me, and I pined 
in his keeping? 

I cannot tell you how I knew, I fear, for you 
would not understand it. But I knew. I knew that 
soldier was from another regiment, and I sickened 
and brooded while he held me captive. And when 
the Pat arrived, why, I was a dog transformed. 



62 MOPPING UP! 

It didn't take my rescuer long to make plain 
who I was and where I belonged, and he took me 
away with him. The soldier who had claimed me 
as his own had been telling everybody that I had 
come with him from Sault Ste. Marie. Of course. 
I could not make anyone understand that he was 
mistaken, so had to make the best of it, but I was 
planning to gnaw the rope and escape from Val- 
cartier and try to rejoin my friends when my de- 
liverer appeared. 

It took only a few hours to return to Levis, and 
maybe I was not glad to meet Pendy and Rob and 
Fred and the other dear friends again. 

They all asked me where I'd been and what I had 
been doing, and I tried to tell them as well as I 
could. But it has always been a matter of deep 
grief to me that dogs can understand men better 
than men can understand dogs. 

Some of those who understood me least accused 
me of deserting the regiment. But one of the boys 
who knew better than that — he was dear old Fred 
— waxed very indignant. 

" Didn't they tell you that untasted meals and 
water were in front of him when he was found? 
And look how thin he is ! He's been griev- 
ing for us! You make me very much to the 
sick!" 

On September 26 one of my friends took me on 
a trip to Quebec. There we met by appointment 
a clergyman of a Fort Levis Church, and dined most 
sumptuously at the Chateau Frontenac. So many 
courses were served my friend and the clergj^man 



I PLEASE THE LADIES 63 

that I thought the dinner would never end. But I 
was serenely satisfied with that, because I sat by the 
clergyman's chair and was given a piece of meat 
from every course. 

The dining room was filled with beautiful ladies 
and handsome gentlemen, dressed in vari-colored 
uniforms, mostly khaki. I noted various grades of 
Generals, Colonels and staff officers with red rib- 
bons strung about their uniforms. 

I noticed one officer with spectacular red covering 
most of his collar and two rows of ribbons across 
his breast, showing, I presume, a tremendous amount 
of service in other wars. As my soldier friend told 
the clergyman, this officer had concentrated " in ex- 
pounding his occult knowledge of all the intricate 
and enigmatic workings of military prowess, past 
and present." The ladies with him listened; in fact, 
that seemed to be all they had a chance to do. It 
may be that they were sublimely awed by the dis- 
course; I hope so. 

After dinner we walked the promenade and lis- 
tened to the band which played there nightly. There 
were not many dogs about, and I was fearful of my 
feet being trodden upon by the mass of humanity 
walking hither and thither — God alone knew where 
or why. 

It was near to midnight when we arrived back at 
camp. Lights were out and sentries were on every 
corner. "Haiti Who goes there?" was shouted 
many times before we arrived at our tent. Fa- 
tigued by a busy day and night, I was asleep in 
two winks. 



64 MOPPING UP! 

The next morning brought a bustle of new excite- 
ment. The boys were packing kits, pulling down 
tents, loading them on wagons and having them 
hauled away. I was tied to a post all morning and 
was in great fear that I would be left behind. But 
when the P.P.'s marched down I marched with them 
and arrived at the pier full of anticipation regarding 
the next adventure. 

Tied to the pier was a large and splendid boat, 
the Royal George. As we were lined up in front of 
it there was much loading of provisions and bustle 
of all sorts. Fred and Rob busied themselves with 
the " gunny sack — extra kit " trick, and — more 
reconciled than I had been on the first occasion — 
I entered the boat in the depths of the bag slung 
over a stalwart shoulder. In fact, I even extracted 
a little malicious satisfaction in it when I thought 
how we were fooling those " higher up." Though I 
heard Fred say " he guessed they knew It, but were 
winking at it." 

I was put In one of the staterooms and tied. The 
boat remained at the pier till September 30. At 
11:30 In the morning we sailed for somewhere, 
all day and all that night. In the morning we ar- 
rived at Gaspe Bay. 

This was a large bay, holding dozens of large 
ships that reached as far as the eye could see. It 
was a magnificent, inspiring, never-to-be-forgotten 
sight. Out to the horizon rode the warships, some 
of them so distant as to seem only slightly larger 
than specks. The vessels rode graceful and light 
as gulls in the dimpling waters. Yet, too, they gave 



I PLEASE THE LADIES 65 

the eye an impression of bulwarks of strength, 
strong and steady like rocks. 

During the day their automatic semaphores were 
perpetually bobbing signals to ships miles away. 
During the night their signals blinked like the flash- 
ing eyes of some uncanny creatures of the deep. 

My stay at Gaspe Bay was enjoyable at first. I 
was allowed to run over the deck, and I went up to 
the officers' mess and down to the sailors' mess, mak- 
ing many new friends and cementing the older friend- 
ships. 

I met the ladies again — those to whom I had been 
introduced at Levis — and they were pleased to see 
me. Some did not seem as cheerful as before, but 
all were friendly. 

I grew to feel very sorry for some of these ladies. 
They sat in chairs and were wheeled about the deck. 
Their eyes looked dismal and red and their cheeks 
were white and hollow. From their lips fell no 
merry laughter and no cheerful welcome, such as I 
had heard from them when they were on land. 
Upon their faces was a wistful, anxious look, as if 
they were longing for something they knew was out 
of their reach; a sort of " I wish I were dead " look. 
I tried by every artifice known to dogdom to cheer 
them, but with little success. 

I have heard since that what the ladies had was 
mal de mer. I have often wondered since how any- 
thing so horrible as that sickness could have such a 
pretty name! 



CHAPTER VI 
EASTWARD HO! 



f I iHE second day of October was beautiful — • 

I and memorable. There were many ships in 
sight; warships, scout ships, sailing ships — 
and the hardships of those who still entertained the 
pangs of that awful seasickness with the French 
name. But most of us, including myself, were by 
now well over these. 

My boys aboard the Royal George formed a ring 
on the decks and had boxing contests, accompanied 
by laughter, cheering and noise. The ladies seemed 
to enjoy these. All the officers were at the ringside 
and the ship's officers watched from the bridge or 
top deck. Colonel Farquahar took a lively interest 
in the exhibitions. 

The proceedings were enlivened at one point by a 
breezy debate between two officers regarding the 
winner of a certain bout. It wound up by one of 
them jumping Into the ring and offering his services 
as referee for the following bouts. It had looked 
for a few moments before then as If one of them 
would meet the other for a few rounds, and the 
men were hugging themselves with anticipation — 
but no such luck! 

No two officers agreed with each other regarding 
the decisions which other officers were making, and 

66 



EASTWARD HO! 67 

there was so much faultfinding that finally an offi- 
cial referee was appointed and he adjudicated all 
the remaining bouts. 

But that didn't seem to make much difference, 
except that it didn't do any good then for you to 
" kick," because what the referee said settled it. I 
could not see that it helped so very much. Nobody 
was satisfied except the men who were named win- 
ners, and those who had backed them, for a few 
bets changed hands, among both officers and men. 
It looked to me as if the referee aimed principally 
to please himself, and I have noticed that it is al- 
ways easier to do that than it is to please other peo- 
ple. When darkness fell, the boxing was postponed 
till the next day. 

There were rumors afloat at daybreak of October 
3 that all the ships were to sail at 8 : 30 A.M., and 
some of them did get under way. Shortly before 
starting, a small Canadian warship went the rounds 
of all the troop ships, and signaled to each of them : 

" Good-bye. God bless you ! " 

So Canada formally bade farewell to the men 
departing to fight under the insignia of the Maple 
Leaf on European soil. 

Each troop ship received the signal In reverential 
silence. Aboard the Royal George we waited our 
turn to receive this Godspeed from home and fire- 
side, from loved ones left behind. From the stout- 
est heart and the most reckless soul — and there were 
many aboard that craft — came a long sigh as the 
letters : " G-O-D B-L-E-S-S Y-O-U " were signaled 
to the ship. It was an unforgettable moment. The 



68 MOPPING UP! 

Royal George signaled back: "Thank you; good 
luck to you." 

It was some little time before the sudden feeling 
of homesickness left the hearts of most of the men, 
so many of whom were destined never to return. 
They crawled below or walked the deck in silence 
more eloquent than words. 

As the morning wore on, however, their spirits re- 
vived. Soon there was renewed talk of sport and 
a proposition was made for a boat race between 
picked men from each company, but it did not ma- 
terialize. 

.AH the afternoon there was drill. Each com- 
pany was exercised in turn, running back and forth, 
up and down the decks. They had to goose-step, 
hop-skip and mark time. This greatly delighted the 
recruits, but utterly disgusted the veterans. 

The veterans remembered always to register 
muffled complaints in no uncertain language of these 
tactics, condemning them as " the most outlandish 
tomfoolery." They were careful, however, to in- 
dulge in these outbursts in the seclusion of their 
staterooms. 

At five o'clock in the afternoon we had boxing 
again and this continued till about dark. Then, a 
little while later, when all had quieted down, the 
Royal George lifted anchor and slowly and silently 
sailed away. 

There was nothing much to be seen of the boats 
in front, behind or on either side. But occasional 
flashes of light, twinkling from the deep, told us 
that we were not alone by any means, and that our 



EASTWARD HO! 



69 



course was guarded by ships from the greatest navy 
on earth, silent watchers from afar. 

At eight in the evening we had a very successful 
concert in the dining room. Much new talent — 
just discovered on our ship — shone or tinkled, 
and the jubilant notes of music fell in a delightful 
patter. 

Lights were out at nine o'clock and everybody had 
to " dig in " below. There was no escaping that 
order; the bluejackets saw to that. 

I spent the night in the butcher shop. But what 
good did that do me? I was tied up! 

In the morning, however, I was again given the 
freedom of the ship, and roamed about joyously, 
for I had felt the last qualm of seasickness. 

The convoy carrying the first contingent of Ca- 
nadian troops was the largest that had ever sailed 
the seas up to that time; or since, so far as official 
censorship has permitted to be known. 

The convoy sailed in the following formation : 





Cruiser, H.M.S. 


Charybdis 








Cruiser, H.M.S 


. Diana 








Troop sh\ 


\ps 








Megantic 


Caribbean 




Scotian 






Ruthenia 


Athenia 




Arcadian 






Bermudian 


Royal Edward 


Zeeland 






Alaunia 


Franconia 




Corinthian 




Cruiser 


Ivernia 


Canada 




Virginian 


Cruiser^ 


H.M.S. 


Scandinavian Monmouth 




Andania 


H.M.S. 


Eclipse 


Sicilian 


Manitou 




Saxonia 


Glory 




Montezuma 


Tyrolia 




Grampian 






Lapland 


Tunisian 




Lakonia 






Cassandra 


Laurentic 




Montreal 






Florizel . . 






Royal George 





Cruiser, H.M.S. Talbot 



70 MOPPING UP! 

In this order, the cruisers Charybd'is and Diana 
protected the front of the flotilla of transports. The 
Eclipse was stationed on the starboard side and the 
Glory on the port side. The Talbot protected the 
rear. 

We still had the little sparrows on board, fly- 
ing from one ship to the other, continually on the 
hunt for forage. It seemed so strange to see these 
little creatures, that I had always beheld fluttering 
about the trees on land, skimming across the water 
and over our decks. 

I heard that our speed was less than nine knots 
an hour. All day long we were within sight of land. 
I heard it called Newfoundland; high, barren cliffs 
of rock. 

After the first novelty of the ship I became some- 
what bored, but this may have been because I felt a 
little sick again. For a while I was sick of the 
boat, of the food; of the water, fresh and salt. But 
various kind folk tended me and soon I grew better. 

Nearly every night there was a concert in one of 
the large rooms. The air was rather stuffy, but as 
there was great excitement I endured the stuffiness 
with philosophy. I love company; I was never built 
for a hermit dog. 

On October 5 a hubbub rose on our decks as a 
strange ship approached us from the starboard side. 
It waited within a short distance until the last ship 
passed, then took its place in the northernmost line. 
Everybody wondered what ship it could be. It was 
settled by some Solomon among us, who stated that 
she was the S.S. Florizel, carrying the Newfound- 



EASTWARD HO! 71 

land contingent. As nobody disputed him, the 
Florizel she remained. 

So Britain, " on whose possessions the sun never 
sets," rallied her forces from her widespread sun- 
light when Germany resorted to the blackjack to 
gain " her place in the sun! " 

Also, the excitement which was chronic with us, 
whose nerves were strained with the suspense of 
what might lie ahead, and the enemy dangers the 
high seas might hold, broke out again one morning 
soon after the Florizel had joined us. Our trans- 
port, the Royal George, suddenly put on all steam 
and passed all the other boats. I thought at first, 
amid all the conjectures on every side, that perhaps 
a race was in progress. But surmises were settled 
when the Royal George took her place as a scout 
boat to the right of the line, perhaps fifteen miles 
from the others. 

There she remained all day, traveling now at the 
same slow pace as did the rest of the fleet. For a 
while we all thought we were going to leave the 
other ships and go " on our own," but then we 
heard we were to do scout duty from then on during 
the day, returning to the column at night. The view 
of the remainder of the fleet was much more splen- 
did from that distance, and we thus had a pleasure 
not enjoyed by those on the other ships of that 
grand convoy. 

Much argument obtained among the soldiers 
whether we would be able to outrun a German 
cruiser if one appeared. Some claimed that the slow 
boats were heavily armed with many high-callbred 



72 MOPPING UP! 

guns and much ammunition. Then, in case an enemy 
craft appeared, the slow boats would close in on her 
and fight to a finish, while the faster boats made for 
the nearest port. 

This appeared a plausible method of attack and 
defense; and the sailors and bluejackets, by their 
looks and actions, could be depended upon to give 
a good account of themselves if called upon to do 
so. 

They had the " fighting swing," the " fighting 
build," the " fighting face." Even their clothes 
seemed cut for a " rough-house " engagement at a 
moment's notice. They were of the proper breed, 
those boys. They possessed that soft, easy, mild- 
mannered — even harmless — look of a hand grenade, 
just before it explodes! They contained their share 
of the universal spirit- — the spirit of Britain, France, 
America — which was to amaze Germany. 

So I felt perfectly safe in their company. Any- 
body watching a British sailor at his work would 
have to feel that way. 

Besides, there were the professional " battlers " 
lurking in the offing. Sometimes they were invisible ; 
then they would creep into sight from the rim of the 
horizon. Their long gray forms glided into view, 
giving a thrilling feeling of power that spread 
throughout the transports. Their huge guns pointed 
menacingly in all directions. I could not imagine 
any enemy approaching them without these guns 
barking their mighty barks — that deadly bark which 
heralds spew as deadly as the lava from a raging 
volcano. 



CHAPTER VII 
IN ENGLAND 

IN our journey overseas each day was much like 
its predecessor. The Royal George would 
daily take its place as scout boat fifteen miles 
south of the line and return to it at night. 

There were nightly concerts in the salon. 

On October 1 1 we sighted a large French warship 
which was traveling from a southern direction and 
disappeared to the north of the fleet of transports. 

The next day a large British dreadnaught hove in 
sight. He was of the latest type, with bristling guns 
protruding from his sides and from bow and stern. 
The man-o'-war entered the convoy near the center 
line and steamed through it till he departed to the 
northeast. 

^ Came the next day, the 13th, but there was noth- 
ing unlucky about it. We were told we were a hun- 
dred miles south of Ireland. It rained during the 
afternoon, but the sea remained calm. A large ship, 
sailing south, passed the fleet. 

About twelve o'clock these ships received orders 
to break away from the convoy and proceed " on 
their own " ; Royal Edward, Franconia, Tunisian, 
Canada, Laurentic, Virginian, Royal George, Me- 
gantic, Bermudian and the Lapland. 

Shortly after they left the fleet, two large destroy- 

73 



74 MOPPING UP! 

ers appeared to the southeast, first as specks which 
grew larger till they were within a half-mile of the 
new convoy. Then they slowed down and sailed 
with it the rest of the way to Blighty. 

Our ships which had proceeded " on our own," 
and were protected by the destroyers, were faster 
than the others and we reached England well in 
advance of them. 

We sailed to the English coast and arrived off 
Plymouth at about 3 : 20 P.M. The shores were 
lined with people, cheering madly for the Canadian 
boats as they approached the mouth, or channel. 
The Royal George anchored to the same buoy as 
the Alaiinia, and the respective officers exchanged 
calls during the afternoon, and swapped experiences 
of their trip across. 

At 10: 30 the next morning a large British train- 
ing boat made the rounds of all the ships. The 
decks were black with young naval cadets who were 
stationed on various training ships in the harbor. 
Never was there lustier cheering than came from 
these young throats as the boys viewed the Canuck 
troops. 

During the afternoon many boats of all kinds, 
sailing ships and even ferry boats, when passing the 
warships and transports, would set the nearby hills 
re-echoing with the screeching of whistles, while the 
voices upon their decks lent their plaudits. On sea 
and land lungs and machinery vied in bluff noises of 
welcome for my beloved Pats and their comrades. 

There was every evidence of unusual enthusiasm 
in the ordinarily quiet port of Plymouth. 



IN ENGLAND 75 

Later a tug came alongside the boat and landed a 
revenue officer and the health inspector. The in- 
spector gave the boat a clean bill of health and left 
the latest issues of English papers on board. 

Two days later the Alaunia was taken away and 
the troop ship Grampian replaced it alongside the 
Royal George. This boat had 500 men and about 
700 head of horses aboard. During the afternoon 
a boat came alongside with an invitation for some 
of the troops to have tea at General Pale-Carew's 
estate. Needless to say, this invitation was most 
popular and was accepted with no regrets. 

It seemed good to feel the land beneath one's feet 
again; and a little strange, too, at first. The streets 
of the village we passed through were lined with 
people who were profuse with offers of sandwiches 
and fruit. The soldiers accepted all the gifts for 
immediate consumption. So, by the time they ar- 
rived at the estate, they were unable to partake very 
heartily of the tea! 

At ten o'clock in the morning of October 17 two 
large tugs came to the steamer and started with it 
up the river. They halted at a large dock. There 
was a great shipyard there with many large boats 
and battleships. In fact. In the harbor were several 
unfinished battleships; fighting monsters of gray 
steel. 

At 4:30 In the afternoon, Hon. Colonel Sam 
Hughes and Colonel Carson came aboard the boat, 
and as they were leaving they were given three rous- 
ing cheers by the P.P.C.L.Ps. 

About dusk orders were given to pack all kits and 



76 MOPPING UP! 

be ready to disembark. The Pats complied amid 
great excitement. 

They marched two miles to a railroad station and 
were soon aboard a train. After five hours the 
station of Amesbury was reached. This was eight 
miles from Bustard Camp, Salisbury Plains. 

The road to this camp was dry and hard, and 
ideal for marching soldiers. Our camp was located 
on a small hill about a quarter-mile from Bustard 
Camp. Bustard Camp consisted of a farm and two 
small Inns. Therein refreshments were served and 
beds made at all hours. There was also a bar, but 
liquor was not served to soldiers. These inns were 
" out of bounds " to them. 

On October 19 the Canadian soldiers received 
their first mail from home. The next day the bat- 
talion went to the " butts," and the humdrum of 
camp life was resumed. 

Route marches, parades. Inspections, and all the 
" stuff " that the veteran In the game dislikes so 
thoroughly were fully engaged In here. October 
24 there was a grand parade for Inspection by Lord 
Roberts. With us were 5,000 other Canadian 
troops. It took the Lord about twenty minutes to 
inspect us. 

A fortnight of tramping over this ground trans- 
formed It and the camp to a veritable morass of 
mud and water. The daily rains started in enthusi- 
astically to help, so that soon the quagmire was up 
to the knees. 

Many visitors came to the camp, relatives of some 
of the English soldiers. They seemed greatly im* 



IN ENGLAND 77 

pressed with the Canadians. Instead of seeing 
a mob of partly uniformed civilians playing at sol- 
diering, they appeared surprised to find as fine and 
well-organized a body of men as could be seen in 
any British camp. 

The rain continued steadily. There was scarcely 
a day without its showers. The downpours inter- 
rupted parades and route marches, and the soldiers' 
clothing was wet most of the time. In fact, it was 
seldom dry, there being no fire by which to 
dry it. 

The Canadians found the much heralded " ideal " 
climate of " the tight little isle " the wettest, dankest 
sponge in the shape of weather they had ever experi- 
enced. And the Canucks were more than ever sur- 
prised to find that the English houses were about as 
cold as the outside weather. 

During these days I had an anxious interval. I 
was almost quarantined, but not quite. 

A " civvie " (civilian) constable of the district 
notified Adjutant Captain Duller that upon a coming 
Monday he would call to collect all dogs that had 
been brought over with the Canadian contingent. 
There were eight of us in all; though, of course, 
none of the other seven was Mascot of the Princess 
Pats. Still, they had their rights, and it seemed to 
me that, as usual, oflicials were impertinently infring- 
ing upon these. 

It appears that the British Board of Agriculture 
had caused a law to be passed that all domestic ani- 
mals brought into the British Isles must undergo six 
months' quarantine regulations, this being a measure 



78 MOPPING UP! 

to prevent disease from being carried into the coun- 
try. 

The adjutant called my Pendragon into the or- 
derly room and read the letter to him. When Pen- 
dragon came out he was thinking hard. 

I don't believe those British authorities took ac- 
count of the resource of my men of the Northland. 

Anyway, Pendy and Rob and Fred and others of 
my friends held a council of war. The next thing I 
knew, I was taken away quietly from the camp by 
some of them and led to the outskirts of Salisbury 
and placed In the care of some kind persons. They 
took my collar off; the one that the nice lady had 
given me in Canada. I could not figure what it was 
all about, but Pendy said I was not to worry, so I 
did not. Then they went away. 

It seems that before they returned to camp they 
bought another dog, a mongrel of low degree, and 
put my collar around his neck and led him back to 
camp in my place ! 

When that constable person appeared on the desig- 
nated day at the headquarters of my Pats — he had 
heard of their Mascot, of course — and demanded 
me to be sent to quarantine, they handed over this 
mongrel with a display of great grief. My Pen- 
dragon asked the constable to be allowed to keep 
the treasured collar, so he graciously allowed him 
to take it off the mongrel's neck. Then they led 
him away to quarantine. 

Fred almost sobbed in the constable's hearing. 
" There goes the last of Bobbie Burns, the most aris- 
tocratic Mascot a regiment ever had ! " he quavered. 



IN ENGLAND 79 

The constable looked first at the mongrel, then 
at Fred. There was a pitying look upon his face, 
as if he feared grief had robbed my friend of his 
reason. "Aristocratic! That mongrel? Huh!" 
But Fred was always a joker. 

Then, after a day or two, my comrades came to 
the town for me, replaced my collar, and I capered 
merrily with them back to camp. On the way I 
met some of the Pat's officers. They grinned at 
me and winked, as if it were all a rare joke, 

I have always felt that my friends prevented me 
from suffering some fierce fate. 

On November 15 the P.P.C.L.I.'s received or- 
ders to pack all blankets in bundles of ten, and all 
kits, and make ready to leave for Winchester, twelve 
miles from Southampton. Southampton is a city of 
about 120,000 inhabitants and is on the southeast 
coast of England. 

As the Pats were leaving Bustard Camp, the ist 
Brigade of the Canadian Army lined the route of 
our march for perhaps five miles in the direction of 
Amesbury. As the battalion approached each of 
their brother battalions gave three rousing, rhythmic, 
army cheers. The circling hills echoed and re- 
echoed with this enthusiastic farewell as " Pat's 
Pets" marched by with their usual "swank" and 
cockiness. Little did they realize that they were lis- 
tening to the last Canadian cheers that most of them 
would ever hear. 

At two o'clock on the morning of December 4, at 
the new camp at Winchester, a fire alarm sounded, 
rousing the Princess Pats and the whole brigade. 



8o MOPPING UP! 

Here the Pats had an opportunity of measuring 
the thoroughness of British army discipline and alert- 
ness. 

In qualities of quick decision and almost simulta- 
neous action, the K.R.R.'s (King's Royal Rifles) and 
Shrops (Shropshire Light Infantry), were distinctly 
on the job at that early hour of the morning. 

They were at the scene of the fire even before the 
Pats were, though they were a half-mile further 
away. 

They dressed and proceeded their half-mile to the 
fire while the Patricias were garbing and doing not 
more than a hundred yards to it. 

The results of the fire were disastrous to the Pats, 
for two of their best officers were severely burned 
in it. 

The blaze was among the tents. A tent sheltering 
Lieutenant Papineau and Captain Stewart was con- 
sumed, and these two officers, who were caught 
asleep, were severely burned about their heads and 
faces. They had narrow escapes from death as they 
were hauled from their beds amid the burning em- 
bers of the tent and floor. They had to be imme- 
diately sent to a hospital for treatment. 

They were not able to accompany the battalion to 
France but rejoined it later. 

Ultimately Papineau was killed on the Belgian 
front, in 19 17 after a military record of great ef- 
ficiency and valor. He had been promoted to 
Major on the field. 

Captain Stewart, after similarly gallant service, 
was eventually made Major on the field, and was 



IN ENGLAND 8i 

acting in that capacity when this chapter was written 
in the spring of 191 8. 

Major Stewart was with Captain Scott in Scott's 
dash for the South Pole. It will be recalled that 
Scott reached there thirty days after Amundsen, 
of Sweden, achieved the ambition that had baffled 
explorers for so many years. 

From December 4 till 9 occurred a series of rains, 
which seemed even wetter than usual, making a 
morass of the camp and grounds. It was very cold 
and dismal rain, too, and it discouraged the men and 
also myself. 

Confound these climates where the sun Is almost 
always taking a vacation, say I ! 



CHAPTER VIII 
BILLETS AND PIPES 

1HAVE heard that some good gray poet — I have 
forgotten which one, as most poets grow gray 
at it, though not all of them are good — once 
wrote these lines : 

" Of all sad words of tongue or pen 
The saddest are these: 'It might have been*" 

To this sentiment, those of my original " Pat's 
Pets " friends who survive, recollecting the incident 
which I now relate, will subscribe. 

During that early December, when the weather 
was so soggy, the soldiers of my battalion were 
suddenly ordered to select billets among the houses 
on the outskirts of the town of Winchester. 

Needless to say there was much elation over this 
order, and reports swiftly spread through the ranks 
that henceforth the men were to be billeted out, and 
that the discomfort of muddy grounds and cold, 
clammy, wet tents would be speedily and automati- 
cally ended. 

Now their damp clothing could be dried at night 
and they could sleep in comfort on the floors of va- 
rious buildings! 

The effect upon the battalion, after the first trips 
to formally select billets, was magical. My boys 

82 



V 



BILLETS AND PIPES 83 

all worked with a will that was surprising. Instead 
of the grouch that had been becoming chronic, it was 
a case of mirth and song, and those who couldn't 
sing — and God knows how many soldiers there are 
with no ear for melody! — tried to, anyway. 

" When I get to billets," observed Fred, " you 
can bet your shirt that I'll trot out my jane in 
style ! " 

" Wait a minute," interposed Rob, the poet of the 
*' Soldiers Three." " This glad occasion inspires 
my muse afresh. You know she's been developing 
ringbones and spavins lately, in all this muck. But I 
feel her jumping within me. Just a second now! 
I've got it ! Listen to this ! " 

" When foxy Freddie draws a billet 

Sequestered from the damned old rain, 
He'll grab dull care and straightway kill it, 
A-hiking with his piking jane." 

" Just for that," observed Archie, the pessimist, 
" I hope to God you get bullets instead of billets ! " 

When I first knew Archie in Canada he was an 
optimist, but since he struck England and its mud 
he has been beefing so hard that his face was crinkled 
like a bulldog's. He was the best little killjoy in 
the regiment. He was always prophesying that 
things would be worse, and so far he hadn't missed 
a bet. 

But how that boy could fight, as he proved later I 
He just kind of naturally took out his grouch on 
the Germans. 

Just now, however, his cynical prophecies that 



84 MOPPING UP! 

there would be no billets were received with scorn 
and derision. 

"That's all right! " growled Archie, "but I can 
tell you poor stews this; that you ain't going to get 
hoarse counting up the billets you'll draw ! " 

Amid friendly curses he went away, while the 
boys continued to exult over the comforts that would 
soon be theirs. 

" To-morrow or next day," they had decided, 
they would be In billets. Spick and span they would 
step from them of an evening, having obtained leave 
for a couple of hours, and their " janes " would meet 
them at the doors, and together they would wander 
through the sogglness and dream love's young 
dream, for Cupid Is an extra good comrade to the 
fellow In khaki. 

There was a dance listed which some of the boys 
hoped to get leave to attend. Wait till they should 
swank to it from their billets! 

Up to now the words of the blasted pessimists 
had come true; too true I But there was an end of 
that. The coming billets were ushering In a new 
day! 

Hopefully they awaited the orders to move into 
billets. They waited for a couple of days. No or- 
ders came — and as if in fiendish appreciation of this 
state of their suspense, the elements started element- 
ing even more earnestly than they had been doing. 

But after these two nights, still in the soaked tents, 
came another order to select billets, this time in an- 
other section of the town. 

"Blimy!" exclaimed one English soldier, "I 



BILLETS AND PIPES 85 

wonder what was the matter with those other bil- 
lets? Folks must ha' kicked! " 

Sergeant Wilson went to the new section with a 
party which included Fred and Rob. 

He knocked at the door of a humble cottage, 
rather small. He saluted as a fat little woman 
opened the door. 

" Madam," asked Sergeant Wilson, " how many 
of our men can you billet in your home ? " 

" Mighty! " replied the woman in dismay, using 
a term much in favor in the region. " H'i cawn't 
billet h'anyone ! We has on'y these two 'ere rooms 
for me husban' an' me an' the two bybies. " 

"That doesn't matter!" replied Sergeant Wil- 
son sternly. " It's military necessity, and we must 
have these billets. You should be able to accom- 
modate six of these men on the floor of one of the 
rooms." 

Fred and Rob and the other looked inside appre- 
ciatively. How much nicer would be that strip of 
new clean carpet to lie on, instead of in the mud 
which comprised the usual soldier's bed of late! 

" Well," replied the woman, " h'if H'i must, H'i 
must! " and she shut the door hard. 

So it went, till a number of visits had been made 
by various detachments, and the men returned to 
camp in high spirits. That night, or the next, or- 
ders would surely issue to leave the soggy tents and 
proceed to billets ! 

But two more days drifted by, while the boys re- 
mained anxious and mystified. 

Then they received the shock of their li^es. 



86 MOPPING UP! 

There was blandly handed them the information 
that this had been merely practice billeting! That 
there would be no real billeting in England. That 
was reserved till they should reach the front in 
France. 

For some days thereafter, Archie, whose dark 
prediction had again been proved true, merely 
looked those four ancient and hated words, when 
used in this order: " I told you so! " 

He did not dare to speak them. If he had, his 
comrades would have murdered him by some in- 
genious new slow method. 

Various happenings proceeded, but I hasten to 
a joyous one that was a red letter one for me. 
For how I had longed for this happy day to ar- 
rive, yet feared that it never would. And when 
It did, it seemed almost too good to be true ! 

Since I had joined the Princess Pats at Ottawa, 
there was but one and only one thing connected with 
the regiment that made for my annoyance. 

It is the memory of those hellish bagpipes of un- 
hallowed and unregretted associations; those wail- 
ing, undulating, yowling contrivances that irked my 
tufted ears for many moons; that drew my howls 
of protest as they skirled under golden sun, or sil- 
very moon and the scandalized stars! 

How many months had I endured those barbaric 
strains, worse than the shrieks torn from the souls 
condemned of a host of hated cats! 

The morning of that 17th of December, 19 14, — 
a morning soon rendered glorious in my vision de- 
spite the gloom and the rain and the mud thereof, — -. 



BILLETS AND PIPES 87 

1 made this discovery that filled me with so much of 
simple joy. 

I saw my friends of the bagpipe band — who were 
good, talented fellows, all of them — packing those 
instruments of sorrow. 

A little careless and gentle inquiry on my part 
elicited the news that, within an hour, those har- 
bingers of hari-kari would be rolling in a van to 
the station, en route for Aberdeen, Scotland, for 
safekeeping during the period of the war, 

I found a dry spot of land and rolled blissfully 
upon it; I barked and tittered and mouthed my de- 
light with all the power of the two sound lungs 
nature has given me. My heart was filled with love 
of all things living, and I was perfectly willing to 
let the dead past bury its dead. 

I scampered about, making friends with every- 
body, trying to tell everybody what it was that I 
was so happy about — and most of them understood. 
My smile was never wider, my eyes never brighter, 
my bark never pealed more clearly than in that 
happy hour. 

But this life is made up of reactions. I have al- 
ways noticed that when you are happiest, a sorrow 
inevitably follows it. 

It was so with me now. 

There was a preliminary bustle through the ranks 
of my regiment that told me that It would soon be 
leaving for France, 

And I found that I was not destined to go to the 
front line trenches with my beloved Pats ! 

No; this stay at Winchester was my last with 



88 MOPPING UP I 

them, as a regiment. They were a fighting unit 
now, and I was not to be exposed to the dangers that 
would constantly confront them. 

They would sail across in advance of me, and I 
was to be left to be taken with the transport, which 
would carry over the quartermaster's supplies, the 
horses, the artillery, etc. 

My friends, in arranging that I should be in the 
rear lines instead of the front trenches, explained 
to me that it was for my good. They claimed that 
a lively and live dog was more companionable and 
satisfying any day than a dead dog. 

Though bitterly disappointed, as the day for their 
departure drew near, I had, perforce, to yield that 
this view was reasonable. 

Pendragon told me I was to stay with those of 
the rear; that I was not to wander away; that I was 
to be a good dog. Fie said there would always be 
friends back with me, so I should not feel lonely, 
and that I would see all there was to be seen; and 
by that he did not mean Avholly with physical eyes, 
for he knows the eyes of my spirit, and realizes 
that it is given power to see more than can be seen 
by the spirits of men. 

I thoroughly understood what he told me, and I 
am proud to remember that, during all the time we 
were at the front, I gave not the least bit of trouble. 
I did just what I was told to do and stayed wherever 
I was told to stay. The seriousness of war had by 
now been impressed upon me. 

Nevertheless I had ample opportunity to gather 
the story that I give you in the ensuing pages. 



BILLETS AND PIPES 89 

Through the days and nights the grim thunders of 
the great guns reverberated in my ears. I saw many 
terrible and heartrending sights; with the eyes alike 
of the flesh and of the spirit. My friends caught 
me to their breasts and told me with trembling 
voices stories alike of joy and of sorrow; always I 
was in touch with those who fought, who were about 
to fight — and who had fought and found peace 
eternal. I could see their shadowy forms across 
the border; could catch the messages which their 
spirits transmitted in the language that is subtler 
than that contrived by stumbling tongues. 

Though my body was not in the front line 
trenches, my spirit was there, and I saw many a 
sight in visions, and heard many a word, that the 
speech of men later confirmed for truth. 

It came, therefore, that my boys set off on the 
last hike ere they crossed the Channel to the French 
front, with their Mascot left to follow, and remain 
behind them. I watched them wistfully — and when 
they disappeared from view my spirit was with them.^ 



CHAPTER IX 
ON FRENCH SOIL 

BRIGHT and early on the morning of Decem- 
ber 20 began a furore of preparation. Kit- 
bags, transport wagons, tents; everything of 
any use around the place was packed and the 
boys lined up for a march down the road. They 
marched and rested and then marched again. It 
seemed a very long way to the place called South- 
ampton. 

People lined both sides of the streets for miles 
and miles to say good-bye to the Canadians. They 
cheered and shook hands with each soldier as he 
passed, and many a gallant Canuck, too, was kissed 
by old and young. There were men, women and 
children all shaking hands at once for miles and 
miles along that road. The streets were packed 
with masses of good English folk, bands were play- 
ing and all hurrahed like mad. 

They marched to the Southampton docks and 
were put on a large and beautiful boat. There was 
plenty of room, though there seemed to be thou- 
sands on board. The boat left the dock about 7:15 
in the evening, and for the first time each soldier was 
served with hard slabs of eatables that looked like 
dog biscuit and what the boys called tins of bully 
beef. There came a time when I ate some pieces 
of this dog biscuit and bully beef. 

90 



ON FRENCH SOIL 91 

From either shore many searchlights were play- 
ing on the waters, and these wavering beams 
came also from surrounding warships. Many war- 
ships and more transports were about, and the rays 
played about the craft till it was well out in the 
Channel. 

The night was inky dark, enshrouding a calm 
sea. The effect of the myriad searchlights, split- 
ting the gloom, was indescribable. The surround- 
ing gleams seemed countless, mysterious corusca- 
tions from every angle in the gloom. So the ship 
moved on stealthily in the calm sea through the maze 
of lights, it being impossible to tell where the water 
ended and the shore began. 

The men were sent below. Some of them were 
nonchalantly asleep in a few minutes. Others did 
not care to sleep, and strolled about through the 
night with their heads bent, thinking. I knew why 
they were thinking so seriously. 

Now there was an essence in the atmosphere that 
told me the supreme step had come; that soon they 
and I would fully know the hateful meaning of that 
black-and-red word, war. 

My friends were up early, when it was still dark. 
It was six of the morning, though the gloom was 
still that of night. They could see the lights from 
the shores of France as they bestirred them- 
selves and made ready for the order to leave the 
boat. 

The lights of the warships were still flickering 
around the transports. There were rumors that 
they Vv^ere to land as soon as the tide came in. Mean- 



92 MOPPING UP! 

while, the ships continued to travel slowly in circles, 
which they did for hours. 

It was I : 30 P.M. when our boat sidled carefully 
to the dock and we prepared to march off it. Our 
tall Adjutant Captain Duller was the first Canadian 
officer with a fighting battalion to set foot on French 
soil to fight for the threatened liberties of the world. 

It was destined that he should not return, but 
would die a fighter's death at the head of his men. 
The thought of death, associated with him, would 
have seemed incongruous in that moment, as he 
walked blithely down the gang-plank. It was as 
if he were on parade, with his easy active gait and 
cheerful swing. So thousands have stepped since 
down the gang-planks — and never returned to 
Blighty — nor to Canada. 

It chanced, after this, that my Pendragon was the 
first " man o' the line " of a Canadian regiment to 
press foot upon the soil of " la belle France." 

Because of this fact, I still retain a sense of real, 
bona fide, grievous injury, the injury of a pal de- 
nied his just right! 

For the shoes of a large number of soldiers, 
Canadian and otherwise, pressed that soil before 
my four pads had a chance at it! For, you see, I 
did not come with Pendragon down that particular 
gang-plank. 

I wish it had been different. I wish even that I 
had been in that accursed gunny sack again, over 
Pendy's shoulder. I had been " sneaked " by va- 
rious frontiers. Why couldn't I have been sneaked 
past the last one, the supreme one? 



ON FRENCH SOIL 93 

This France seemed to be quite a different coun- 
try from England. Its friendship was probably as 
sincere but less noisy. How I loved the noisy friend- 
ships of Canada and England! 

So my Pats started in to make some noise of their 
own. How proud was my spirit of them when it 
heard how well they were succeeding! It may have 
been that these French, in the months since the war 
had started, had become more hardened to it than 
the Canadians who were just coming into it; that 
it had become somewhat of a monotony to them. 
But the spirits of " Pat's Pets," landing at last for 
the fray, enjoyed a swift reaction through this cause, 
and it found vent in the noise they and I loved. 

The uproar was deafening. My Pats made 
noises imitating Indians and Africans and all kinds 
of native peoples. They sounded just like them, 
too, for my friends, the pick of Canada and largely 
made up of veteran fighters, had traveled through- 
out the world and had made every form of noise 
known to the human race. The result now bordered 
upon the inhuman. 

It appeared to me that the good French people 
were filled with awe at such unusual actions from 
men on their way to do battle in a real war. Such 
behavior might have been in place at a movie re- 
hearsal — evidently reflected these French peasants 
— but prior to a life-and-death struggle, it was very 
odd to them. 

They gazed at the Canadians as if they constituted 
a band of escaped lunatics. They were wide-eyed 
and wide-mouthed, absorbed in wonder and fright. 



94 MOPPING UP! 

From their aspect you would gather that they 
thought us a band of disguised Huns, who some- 
how eluding the British navy had come from the 
rear and were now doing a war dance just before 
attacking them. 

The Canadians were acting much differently from 
the British " Tommy," or in fact from any other 
troops they had seen going into action. The Ca- 
nucks seemed like a big thearical troupe before the 
start of a play, or like delirious warriors, plied with 
some fascinating drug, going to their death with 
frolic and laughter. No college sophomores had 
ever paraded with more noise or abandon after a 
victorious football contest or baseball game. 

When they had, perforce, to stop and rest lungs 
and gesturing limbs for a moment, those bewildered 
French people would cautiously come a little closer, 
rubbing their eyes. They would catch hold of a 
soldier's arm, or stroke his uniform or his rifle. 
This they did to make sure they were not dreaming; 
that these were indeed men from a friendly young 
Power overseas who had come to fight with their 
poilus. 

Soon, too, they were overjoyed to find among the 
Canadian ranks some men of their own flesh and 
blood, who could talk to them in their own tongue; 
whose hands, even, gestured like their own while 
they were talking. After this, their attitude showed 
they quickly gained confidence, and soon were en- 
thusiastic over the Canucks, after the excitable fash- 
ion of the Gallic race. 

That the spirits of the Canadians were noisily ex- 



ON FRENCH SOIL 95 

pressed was a matter of no wonderment. They 
come from a land of sharp contrasts in tempera- 
ture; where in the summers, even in the regions 
close to the Arctic Circle, the warm sun pours flame 
down upon the fruitful black loam of the land; 
where in the autumns the maple leaf which is our 
insignia turns to crimson and gold in a night; where 
in the winters our world is covered with a soft robe 
of fleecy snow as white as purity itself, and the 
crackle of a twig in the frigid stillness sounds like 
the snap of a pistol; where in the swift-blown 
springs in a trice is accomplished a miracle In green 
and bloom and fragrance. 

Well, after some time, order was restored, and 
the men cheerfully complied with the brusque or- 
ders of the ofiicers to " fall in." They were 
marched to very wet grounds on the top of a hill. 
It was quite dark before they reached camp. All 
were tired and sleepy as they tumbled into the tents. 

There seemed to be less tents to get into than had 
been the case at Winchester. There were about six- 
teen men to each " circle " tent; they had to sleep so 
close together that all were quite warm. If a man 
wanted to leave the tent during the night he had to 
walk over — and upon — the others. As the night 
had turned bitterly cold, and there was but a single 
blanket for each man on a wet ground, the matter 
of sleeping was not the most comfortable diversion 
in the world upon that night. 

With all the discomfort morning came much too 
soon with the usual " parade," " number off," 
" form fours," " stand at ease," etc As usual, too, 



96 MOPPING UP! 

there was the wait of an hour or so for the officer, 
only to be again dismissed. 

At 1 : 30 in the afternoon they were ordered to 
pack up again " in full marching order." Followed 
another wait, this time of some hours, then they 
marched several miles through the town of Havre 
to the station, a dirty old building surrounded by as 
much mud as we had wallowed around in at Win- 
chester. 

It was well after dark when they were Issued four 
days' rations and piled into small dingy flat cars. 
These cars looked to be constructed to accommo- 
date twenty Frenchmen each. Yet, for this emer- 
gency, into each of them was wedged forty-three 
men of more than ordinary dimensions — which is 
to say, forty-three Canadians. 

But all were surprisingly good-natured. It was 
the combative instinct working; they were glad, at 
the expense of any discomfort, to be getting each 
moment of slow progress, nearer to the fighting line. 

There was room in these cars for only half the 
occupants to lie down at once, while the other half 
stood up. They alternated fifty-fifty in the process, 
and in this way all " carried on " for four long days 
and nights. 

Meanwhile, you may be sure that the men did not 
forget to comment sarcastically upon the arrange- 
ments which had not been made for their comfort. 
It's pretty tough, being so crowded that only half 
of you can lie down at once ! 

To have enough room for each man to lie down; 
of course, that would be showing altogether too 



ON FRENCH SOIL 97 

much consideration for the men who were doing the 
fighting, they said. Naturally, the twenty-odd offi- 
cers could have several cars for their comfort, with 
their servants; but too much comfort was not good 
for common soldiers, especially just before they 
were to be killed. It would give them too good an 
opinion of this old world, and make them want to 
remain here a little while longer! 

That may have been the reason for the lack of 
comfort given the men who no longer felt like " Pat's 
Pets," I have decided, in thinking things over since. 
For undoubtedly it is a fact that the less a soldier 
gets to eat, and the less comfortable he is, the more 
reckless he becomes as the hour for battle ap- 
proaches; especially if he is promised a rest when 
the engagement is over. 

That accursed train would stop for hours like a 
balky horse, and apparently with no more well- 
defined reason than that animal would have; 
would wander along a mile or two farther, and then 
take another rest of several hours ! 

Many a complaint was registered, unheard by 
any in authority, during this weary journey of rest- 
less days and nights. Many a curse was uttered, 
though I doubt if the ever-listening angel recorded 
these justified outpourings of irritated spirits. 
Many a silent wish was registered for a few com- 
fortable hours in a home train, like the trip from 
Ottawa to Montreal a few months before. 

From the way in which my friends sized up things 
afterward, probably this was all part of the plan to 
stiffen them for rigors to come. As they looked 



98 MOPPING UP! 

back on it, there had been a gradual elimination of 
all accustomed comforts during the months of prep- 
aration for the trenches. 

So it happened that the Pats had first-class 
coaches in Canada, second- and third-class coaches 
in England — and finally drew the roughest, smallest 
and most rattlety-bang box cars in France, in turn! 
These were all graduating steps toward the dugouts 
and trenches. 

It was a benevolent plan of bringing on the hells, 
one after the other, to the final inferno at the front 
that embraced all the fifty-seven varieties. 

If it was their object to stiffen the men by these 
means for the ordeal to come, they succeeded, all 
right. They were certainly a stiff lot of soldiers 
when they detrained! 



CHAPTER X 
"MARCHONS!" 

MY poor boys were nearly at the end of 
physical and mental endurance when they 
heard those first wild rumors that they 
were to detrain at last. I mention them as wild 
rumors, for they started in the morning and it was 
night before the actual event occurred. 

The P.P.C.L.I.'s must have looked a tame and 
dejected lot — quite in contrast to their blithe spirits 
on landing on French soil — when they got out of 
those devilish cars. You could hear their joints 
creak. 

My comrades stiffly " numbered off " outside that 
dismal looking station " somewhere in France." 
Our brave fellows were quite a contrast to the 
snappy bunch that marched through the city of Ot- 
tawa that beautiful morning in August. It seemed 
now so long before ! And it was 9 : 30 of the night 
of December 24, Christmas Eve, that found them 
thus, unhappy magnets of the hearts of all loved 
ones at home, among the holly berries and the va- 
cant chairs; hearts that were now yearning for them 
across the seas, wondering how they were faring. 

How they were faring! Here was another of 
the manifold grim ironies of war, this Thing they 
had come to seek. 

99 



loo MOPPING UP! 

They were — waiting. The same old weary wait- 
ing for somebody or something; the pathetic wait- 
ing as usual; the daily and nightly wait of army life. 
Very wearying and exhausting was this wait, the 
reason for which was always so obscure and mys- 
terious to the men in the ranks. Why? They 
could not ask why; no reason was ever given them; 
theirs was only to wait, wait, wait — and wait! 

Only the man o' the line and his God know what 
a torture is stubborn, dragging, sullen silence when 
he is wearily waiting. 

In one of those strange divining dreams of mine 
I waited, too; my heart filled with sorrow, as my 
cocked ears listened to the murmured exchanges be- 
tween the boys who were so shortly before imitating 
Indians and cowboys and black cannibal kings in the 
exuberance of their joy at reaching French soil, to 
fight for human liberties; these poor bound slaves 
of the sternest of human discipline, waiting. 

" Let me put my pack down. I — I can't stand 
this — another — " 

" God ! boys, catch him before he falls ! There ! 
. . . Bill! are you hurt? " 

" No. Let me lay here, that's all. Don't bother 
me! Don't — bother — " 

"But, Bill, old boy! You'll get all wet there, 
in the mud! " 

"I don't care! Let me die here; leave me! I 
tried to stand it, but I'm at the end o' my rope I 
Why don't we march? God! I could stand that. 
But this waiting! . . . Let go of me, Barney! " 

" But, Bill! You can't do this; you'll catch your 



"MARCHONS!" loi 

death! . You're game, Bill, you know that; good old 
Bill ! " 

There was an instant's silence; then again Bill's 
drowsy voice. 

" Yes; I'm game. Help me up, boys. I'll stick it! 
Bring on your hounds ! " 

So it went along the line, for many a gallant fel- 
low temporarily toppled from the line while they 
waited in the mud, after that hell's journey in those 
constricting cars; toppled and somehow scrambled 
to his feet again, to wait on, with glazed eyes and 
sobbing breath, while through the night seemed to 
peer, icy cold and cruel, the ogre orbs of the iron 
ghost of discipline, the brutal tyrant of war. 

I am positive that, if this dreary wait had en- 
dured only a few minutes longer, hundreds of our 
less fit must have fallen exhausted by the roadside, 
unable to move; — and why? 

Could anybody give a satisfactory reason why so 
many hundred good, courageous, honest Canadian 
volunteers — volunteers all — should have been left 
by that roadside for nearly five hours on a cold, wet, 
raw night, standing at " attention," holding up their 
heavy loads of equipment? What gross neglect of 
duty was here? Even a collie dog would know 
enough to meet his friend at the train when he ex- 
pected him! 

But It was not until about 2 A.M. of Christmas 
Day that Pat's bedraggled " Pets " were at last put 
on the march. They were told that the distance was 
" about a mile," but many more of the men stag- 
gered out and fell by the wayside even before the 



102 MOPPING UP! 

mile was negotiated — and five miles more were cov- 
ered before they were ordered to halt at some farm 
buildings beside the road! 

There they waited at attention for another drag- 
ging interval — outside the buildings. 

Then somebody casually discovered that the bat- 
talion had come too far! So they were marched 
back again, about three or four miles, or nearly to 
the point from which they had started. 

My boys thus stood about the roadside, or were 
kept marching back and forth, the whole night long. 
It was a rather strenuous constitutional, to be sure; 
especially after the box cars. But why use brains 
when so much strength and vitality are available for 
exercising? And brains, after all, are of no use 
without muscle; therefore develop muscle first and 
brains may develop itself. It was worth trying, 
anyway. 

" It's the greatest game in the world, and not one 
for weaklings," declared one. " War is not a pink 
tea, and if we can't stand the first blast, like this, we 
have no business in it! " 

" That's right! " declared another. " We're not 
weaklings in mind or in body! " 

So those of the stoutest courage rallied the others 
by putting them to a moral test. " We wanted to 
be over here," they argued grimly, " and we're here. 
So, for God's sake, let's not welch! " 

" That's right! " came the answers. " It's up to 
us to show the stuff we're made of, no matter who's 
to blame ! " 

That intrepid spirit, the spirit of Canada, ran all 



"MARCHONS!" 103 

through the ranks during that memorable series of 
marchings and returns. In a way, it was a triumph 
of the Christmas spirit, at least in courage. 

Throughout, I trotted In dreams along with them, 
back and forth through the mud, trying feebly to 
wag my discouraged brush under their rallying calls 
to one another. 

At last — it was in the small hours before daylight 
during one of our numerous " rests," we became 
acutely sensible of the deepening of a sullen mutter- 
ing we had been hearing at intervals during the long 
night. Now it swelled like thunder ; only in it was a 
sound that I found far more sinister than thunder; 
something that set me trembling, so instinct was It 
with menace, with destructive malice, with death. 

The next moment I heard a group of men dis- 
cussing the sounds which heralded the approach of 
dawn of Christmas Day. It was the thundering of 
the guns. 

So it chanced that we heard the voice of the Thing 
we had come to find before we saw It. 

Some of the boys were serious when they heard 
the big gims barking, but others referred jokingly 
to the sounds, and appeared not to mind It at all. 

I woke, whining, from my dream. 

It was 7 : 30 in the morning when the boys were 
ordered Into the buildings of some farms to sleep. 
If there was ever a welcome sleep for the worn-out 
Pats, this one was It. From these farms the rum- 
bling of the cannon was increasingly perceptible, but 
you may wager that it did not keep them awake very 
long. And they enjoyed a deep sleep till after noon. 



I04 MOPPING UP! 

Nearly everybody awoke with spirits revived. 
Most of them seemed to find inspiration in the roar 
of the guns, which was now continuous. It seemed 
to act upon them as a call to battle. The complaints 
issuing from the ranks were lessening. Many be- 
gan to take a certain pride in the fact that they were 
experiencing their first hardships. These, they 
added philosophically, were only a taste of what 
was to come, or " the real thing." These rare souls, 
with the reaction produced by a little rest, already 
seemed to positively enjoy themselves; even more 
than when comfortable in the Exhibition Grounds 
at Ottawa ! 

At 2 : 30 in the afternoon the battalion was 
marched out about two miles to dig reserve trenches. 
The noise of the guns increased, and was at first 
quite jarring to the nerves. But it was odd to note 
how soon they grew used to it! 

At 5 : 30, without having suffered any serious 
mishaps, they marched back to billets. So the pro- 
gramme now ran from day to day; marching out a 
few miles to work in wet trenches. The boys 
worked always ankle deep in mud and water, and 
sometimes the mire reached to their knees. Al- 
ways heavy rain clouds made it their business to 
pour their watery burdens down upon them. Then 
the weary march back to billets; and thus on, for 
every day except Sunday. 

New Year's Day opened with the never-failing 
damp cold so hard for Canadians, — who were used 
to crisp, dry cold — to endure, and with occasional 
flurries of sleet and snow. All thoughts flew home, 



"MARCHONS!" 105 

overseas to dear old Canada, where the ground was 
then covered with a pure carpet of white and the 
golden sun glistened through the frosty clouds. 

And here they were in a difference — a difference 
of mud! There was a dissertation on this difference 
between two of the boys, when they rose : 

" The sun," remarked Arthur fervently. " Where 
did I ever hear that golden word?" 

" This rain sure has my Angora bleating for 
mercy," answered Bill, the man who had nearly sunk 
with fatigue when we left those horrible box cars. 
"What did you say about a sun? " 

" I said it ! " reiterated Arthur. " Sun, why hast 
thou forsaken us, confound thee ? " 

" Ah ! " flung back Bill in disgust, " why wouldn't 
it forsake us? What respectable sun would be hang- 
ing around to shine on Europe, filled as it is with 
godless Huns when it has God's country, Canada, 
to filter its rays on? " 

" Fall in ! " cut in the sergeant. 

On this dismal New Year's Day the entire regi- 
ment was paraded to a field, perhaps three miles 
distant. There were other battalions waiting in this 
field when " Pat's Pets " arrived. 

There the whole 80th Brigade was congregated. 
I don't know how long they had been waiting, but 
if their experiences had been like those of the Pats, 
they must be loving Sir John about as the sheep 
loves the wolf or the chicken the falcon ! 

At last, however, they were visited and inspected 
by Sir John and other gentlemen of a more or less 
distinguished military appearance. Of course, the 



io6 MOPPING UP! 

usual showers of rain and snow had to Interrupt the 
ceremony. No ceremony or work of any kind was 
complete without exhibitions of this peevishness of 
the elements. 

It seemed that, even If the showers showed a 
disposition to be accommodatingly late, in arriving, 
the military powers M^ould dawdle sufficiently so that 
the boys should receive the full fury of the elements 
when they zvere unloosed. 

The Pats stood at attention for an hour or more, 
awaiting the arrival of the General and his staff, — 
and the other troops had been there before they 
arrived ! The Irony attaching to this Inspection of 
6,000 men was that, no matter what the verdict 
might be, the brigade was booked to go into the 
trenches in a few days anyway, and It seemed to 
them the chief office of the inspection was only to 
aggravate the tempers of my boys and make them 
wish they were In the front line trenches. 

I think may be. If the General had heard some of 
the grumblings, perhaps he would have been on time 
for the next inspection, or perhaps asked the 
platoon sergeants to act for him ! 

After a long wait and a chill occurred the Inspec- 
tion, which required less than eight minutes for 
6,000 men! 

Then the brigade marched to their various quar- 
ters. A raw wind was blowing; there was frost in 
the air; it was bitter cold. My boys were glad when 
the exercise of walking to billets warmed them 
again. There hot coffee and cognac soon made 
them happier. 



" MARCHONS ! " 107 

Next morning saw the resumption of route march- 
ing and trench digging by the regiment, each section 
trying to outdo the other in digging large and safe 
ones, a la camouflage. 

Yet what the Pats had now to endure was joyous 
play, compared with what was to come ! 

At 9 A.M. on January 5, orders were issued to 
pack all kits for full marching order. All blankets 
and equipment and quartermasters' stores were 
piled in the transports and limbers. 

One may imagine the feverish excitement that 
spread at this prospect of real contact with the 
enemy. " Be ready for the firing line " ; so read the 
orders of the day, and everyone was anxious to have 
that " whack." As rumors had it, they were to re- 
lieve the French somewhere. 

So, at 8 : 30 a.m. Canada's foremost battalion 
was in the road, waiting the order to march. The 
first day's march covered about fifteen miles. There 
were but a few short stops, of about ten minutes 
each. 

It was rather a hard trial on the feet, for the 
Pats had grown used to turf. The cobblestones 
seemed uncommonly hard. The boys could scarcely 
withstand the first day's forced march, and some of 
them wore the soles of their shoes even with the 
foot. 

They were being paced by the greatest marching 
army in the world; the professional British Indian 
soldiers who were used to forced marches of 
twenty-five or thirty miles a day in search of the 
mobile Indian hill tribes. 



io8 MOPPING UP! 

But the Canucks were game, and brought up 
the rear of the 8oth Brigade with the " swanky " 
swing they were famous for. They never dropped 
a yard in the pace set by the K.R.R.'s in front of 
them. They were more than equal to the stern 
test! 

However, on the second day, the pace began to 
tell even on the pacemakers. The Canadians saw 
a number of the professionals passing to the rear, 
unable to stand the gaff they had themselves intro- 
duced ! 

"Hi! Tommy!" yelled my friend Fred, as he 
noticed one discouraged East Indian fighter limp- 
ing to the rear, to receive attention for his swollen 
feet; "blessed are the pacemakers, for they shall 
inherit the earth ! " 

Tommy Atkins paused and cast a sour look at 
Fred, swanking along as if he liked it. Fred had 
hiked through too much of Northern Ontario wilder- 
ness to mind this breezy trudge in the open. 

"Aw!" answered Tommy, "you'll stop by and 
by!" 



CHAPTER XI 
THE TRENCHES 

WE were all bundled into the village of 
Vlamertinghe. The Colonel and Adju- 
tant occupied a room about sixteen feet 
square in an inn. A partition divided this room 
from the bar or " pub," one of those Flemish coun- 
try estaminets. 

The natives were purchasing their refreshments 
as usual, and were to learn later that one of the 
greatest bodies of fighting men that had reached 
the Western Front had their headquarters in the 
room next the bar — and were to reflect later, too, 
that many of the soldiers whose playful mood amid 
laughter and song now diverted them, were about 
to march to what should prove their last resting 
place. 

For a uniformed crowd besieged the bar, calling 
for their pick-me-ups as on Piccadilly or Broadway, 
but instead were given sour beer. The natives mar- 
veled and gorggled, standing in groups with eyes, 
mouths and ears open, absorbing the spontaneous 
sounds of Canadian merriment. They apparently 
expected to see trials by court-martial ordered, and 
shootings at dawn. 

But theirs were only the little offenses of the bot- 
tle, and late hours. So, the natives were disap- 

109 



no MOPPING UP! 

pointed as they stood about watching the Canadian 
soldiers. Later some of the boys were taken to the 
orderly room next the estaminet and got their C.B.'s 
(Confined to Barracks) for a few days. 

The regiment was quite fatigued and stiffened 
from the exertions they had undergone, but 
after a night's rest they were the same " cocky " 
Pats, happy and singing and prancing out for 
another try at the cobblestones of the Flemish 
road. 

The boys started at 9 a.m. They had been told 
it was a nine-mile march to the spot where they were 
to relieve the French. It was easy marching that 
day. They arrived at an open field an hour before 
dark. There, shorn of all kitbags and extra accou- 
trements, they ate a hearty meal and were issued 
twenty-four hours' " iron rations." The meal com- 
prised all that could be eaten, for all British believe 
in fighting on a full stomach. 

After dark each company commander was given 
charge of his own company, and was supplied with 
a guide who was to lead the men to their first experi- 
ence in the trenches. 

The mud in the roads and fields was up to the 
knees in many places, and was soft, yet sticky and 
unyielding when the foot was wholly caught in its 
grip. Then every step was taken with an effort. 
Occasionally a man had to be lifted out. 

The P.P.C.L.I.'s, the first Canadians to fight on 
European soil, relieved the French on the moment 
appointed in the front line trenches, at nine o'clock 
on the night of January 6, 19 15, at a point called 



THE TRENCHES iii 

" Brassery Road." This was perhaps five or six 
miles from Ypres, 

The approach to these trenches was over an open 
country road. The trenches were situated about 
halfway to the top of a hill covered with brush in 
which had been dug the German trenches. It was 
easy to locate these German trenches through the 
presence of a stream of red lights in front and on 
either side of this wood and parallel with it. All 
this could be seen from a flat at the foot of the 
hill. To the right of the road was another small 
wood in which were located the headquarters of the 
Pats. 

On the way up this hill into the trenches the Pats 
caught their first glimpses of the stretcher bearers 
carrying the wounded down the hill. Some of them 
joked about the wounded on the stretchers. 

"I wish I had his job! " said one of our boys. 
" Going back to Blighty ! " And several men 
laughed nervously. 

The marching was slow, and made slower by 
many sudden jerky stops. "Hole to the left!" 
would be passed back in low tones; then, "Trench 
to the right! " These were words of warning, as 
it was very dark and the boys were picking their 
way. Also the word was passed back, as they 
neared the trenches: " No smoking! " " Oh, mind 
your own business ! " fretfully muttered one Pat, 
though he promptly extinguished his " fag," never- 
theless, mindful of the lynx eyes of the Heinles that 
were doubtless alert over the parapets of their 
trenches. 



112 MOPPING UP! 

It may seem to the layman that those of our Pats 
who joked about the wounded were callous, but I 
would like these captious critics to put themselves 
in their place. Remember, their nerves were 
strained to the breaking point with this first grim 
experience of the trenches, and not a man who saw 
those stretchers but who instinctively thought that 
perhaps he would be soon decorating one. The at- 
tempts to jest were only to keep up their spirits. 

This sight of the stretcher bearers was the first 
view of war vouchsafed the Canadians as they 
worked their way slowly on. They were as close 
to the Huns now as the barbed wire would permit. 
The spit and crack of bullets dropping here and 
there, close to them, now made the more superficial 
spirits take a somewhat serious view of matters. 
This was no movie show, but stern reality! 

As the Pats moved along, there occurred some 
low-voiced bits of picturesque recrimination : 

"Oh, shut up! This isn't a hurdy-gurdy affair." 

''Well, what do you care? You'll be dead and 
in hell in the morning, anyway! " 

So the front line trenches were reached amid 
swearing and joking and suppressed laughter. They 
marched in close formation over an open road to 
within one hundred and fifty yards of the Hun lines, 
then entered the trench. The supports were per- 
haps fifty yards to the rear. They consisted of 
two small dugouts with a sort of open trench 
about two feet deep. In this men sat and sat and 
waited till morning. In the front line trenches there 
was a dugout about every twenty yards. The trench 



THE TRENCHES 113 

was about two feet deep and had a parapet about 
two feet high. 

As a matter of course, that night and the next day- 
were wet. So was the second day, and a cold north 
wind whistled through the barbed wires. Nothing 
had been seen of the enemy except flashes of his 
Mauser rifles all along the line; and at night, along 
his trenches occupied by thousands of men, a long 
line of star lights shooting up in a continual 
stream. 

The Pats looked on each side and saw the red fire 
spitting from the myriad muzzles of their comrades' 
guns. They knew that each flash meant a departing 
bullet aimed at the enemy trenches, and they won- 
dered how many of the bullets found their marks. 

Such were the thoughts that flashed through the 
minds of men in the trenches. The men wondered 
how far away the enemy was; if they had one line 
of men or two in front; how many men occupied 
each line; if their trenches were any better built 
than the Canadian trenches. 

They would look and look over the parapet; look 
till their eyes were sore and weary and watery; look 
for some moving object, something to shoot at ! At 
times they were anxious to give an alarm of some 
kind, just to let their comrades in support know that 
they were doing their duty, if nothing more. Some 
of them were anxious to cry aloud, just for the reas- 
surance of their own voices in the darkness. 

They would stand musing, with guns in hand, 
ready for any emergency, keyed to extreme tension. 
Occasionally some of them v/ould shoot their guns 



114 MOPPING UP! 

at random, just to assure themselves that the 
weapons were in good working order. 

Then in the mental whirl would leap thoughts 
of friends at home. What would they feel about 
it? Then the thoughts of the deaths of innocent 
women and children; Louvain and the ravished 
nuns. The story of four babes sent to bed early 
by father and mother, with kisses; the call of the 
parents at a neighboring house; their return to 
find police and firemen digging out the mangled 
corpses of their children from the ruins of their 
beautiful home, destroyed by a Zeppelin bomb. And 
my blood — the blood of a simple, honest, peaceful 
dog that cannot comprehend such cowardice and 
such iniquity — ran faster in my veins, and I longed 
to leap at the throat of one of those murderers! 

Man; " the noblest work of God! " What blas- 
phemy! Man, who can be guilty of crimes that 
beasts would scorn to commit ! Prating of " being 
formed in the image of God "; the God man's acts 
shame and cause Him to question His Scheme of 
Creation. 

I once heard one of the Pats describing how he 
had winged his first German. He was telling an 
interested circle of comrades. 

" Somehow I felt that this time I was not to be 
disappointed," said he. " I felt a fierce longing to 
see one of those faces, the faces I had in mind, 
shaped like a pig's, with wide round chops and a low 
brutal forehead. 

'* It had been quiet. I think the Heinies must 
have figured we were all asleep, or felt a contempt 



THE TRENCHES 115 

for us. Anyway, suddenly I caught sight of one of 
them approaching the parapet with his sneaky, 
treacherous gait. 

" In a sudden flare, a light from our trench, I 
saw his fat German face, close up, seeming to leer 
at me. In a fraction of a second my rifle was at 
my shoulder. 

"I took a bead. Crack! He went down in a 
heap. He is there yet. He hasn't moved since he 
dropped — and he will never move again ! " 

A long quivering sigh broke from the lips of the 
men who had been listening. I sighed, too. We 
were all watching the face of the man who had been 
speaking. 

It was as cold and relentless as If it had been 
carved from stone. In it was the spirit of Canada, 
that was willing to suffer in torment and go through 
the valley of the shadow of death to avenge the 
devilish wrongs the Hun had foisted upon the 
world. 

They all agreed, did my Pats, from the outset 
that it was a fight to a finish, for a knockout, a sur- 
vival of the fittest, and that a " no decision " affair 
would not go. This was the stand of the flower of 
the manhood of Canada, at the very outset of the 
stern game; and that now above their graves their 
spirits cry aloud against any faint-heartedness that, 
carried into effect, would render their supreme sac- 
rifice in vain ! 

There was, however, none of the pomp and 
panoply of war of which they had dreamed. Since 
they had left Canada it had been a case of valor 



ii6 MOPPING UP! 

wallowing in mud and rain, and now this condition 
was intensified. 

Final realization of which brought the deeps of 
philosophy, as deep as the mud itself. 

My " Pat's Pets," so plastered with mire that I 
doubt if the lovely Princess would have recognized 
her heroes, drew one deep sigh for illusions forever 
dispersed, and immediately settled into trench ways 
like veterans. 



CHAPTER XII 
"SOME SHOOTING!" 

TRENCH life, I gathered from reports 
brought back to the rear, was something cal- 
culated to stretch the nerves tight as fiddle 
strings. 

You had to stop and stay there, look and listen 
for somebody or something, and you had to con- 
serve your energy, too. You might need it in a 
hurry, and all of it at once. So you had to sit 
tight and watch your chance, like an Indian. And 
what men were better fitted for that little trick than 
my Canadians? 

Were they not from the regions where the red- 
skins roam? 

Were they not the sons of men who conquered 
" the tall and uncut," and who, through centuries 
of associations, absorbed the red men's cunning; 
which, added to the white man's wiles, makes so 
formidable a blend? So, as in the poker game 
which the white man taught the red man, my Ca- 
nucks now calculatingly thought things over and 
" sat tight " to win. 

But it was a wearing-down process for both sides. 
The piercing north wind drove the rain against the 
faces of the men in the trenches; they were soaked to 
the skin; the mud was nearly to their knees in the 

117 



ii8 MOPPING UP! 

bottom of the trench; their muscles and joints 
cracked when they moved. 

My Pats counted the hours till the relief would ar- 
rive. Only twenty-three hours ! My civilian reader, 
you will never know how long an hour can be. You 
have to inhabit a muddy trench to know that! 

Twenty-three hours ! Then my boys would 
shiver, as much with discouragement as with cold. 
If only there might be a touch of Canadian frost to 
freeze this mud ! If only one might get out and run 
up and down the road to get warm ! 

But that might not be. The trench was but three 
feet high. One-half of it was mud and the other 
half water. There was no chance of making the 
trench deeper; had the boys attempted that, they 
would have been drowned in more mud. 

The water was always pouring into it from all 
sides and there was nothing to bail it out with. 
If the trench had been built up equally on both 
sides, it would have been a case of drown or be 
shot. There was no system of drainage, but for- 
tunately the trench was lower in some spots, which 
enabled the water to run out at those points. 

Asleep in my warm quarters, far back of the fir- 
ing line, I shivered and yelped during that night of 
pouring rain. For my spirit was with my friends 
in that muddy trench, where my body would have 
been had it been allowed the privilege. 

In spirit with them I quaffed the brimming 
cup of misery. My life in these dark hours took on 
a new expression. My point of view had always 
been that of joy in living. I had been convinced 



''SOME SHOOTING!" 119 

that all earthly things were for the comfort and 
sustenance of God's creatures; all of us. But now, 

what? 

It seemed to me that all the world was turning 
into an uncompromising morass. My spirit world 
became a furious, fuming, fermenting tempest; a 
thing discordant, irreconcilable with what I had be- 
lieved. I suffered the supreme hurt, so terrible to 
animals with two legs or with four; the cynical hurt 
of utter disillusion. 

For now I realized the depths of misery in the 
world — and realized that the misery was man- 
made! 

Then, too, I was learning of the pitiful limita- 
tions of man, man whom I had deemed supreme. I 
had looked upon him as omnipotent and everlast- 
ing. But now, in the dramas and the tragedies of 
the trenches, already beginning, I had discovered 
that he was only an animal like us others. 

Man, after all, lived and diq.d, felt cold and hun- 
ger; shook and faltered under the thongs of the 
stern test like all animal creation. 

The long night — that first night of vigil in the 
trenches — wore on, while my spirit fared in the 
rain and shme with my comrades. It heard the per- 
petual crackle of rifle bullets, the crunching bellows 
of the heavy guns; it marked the nervous strain that 
seemed agonizing enough to unbalance the strongest 
mind or weaken the stoutest heart. 

After I had wakened and risen, too, my spirit 
fared with my boys in the gray daybreak. It heard 
my comrades, Rob and Fred, who had fared shoul- 



120 MOPPING UP! 

der to shoulder through the long night, talking to- 
gether. 

" We've just found how long a night can be," Rob 
was saying. " Now we have a chance to figure on 
the day. Will this day ever be over?" 

" I don't know," replied Fred, with a sorry grin. 
" But I know this. It has my goat that hard that 
you can hear the poor critter blattin' clean back 
home to Canada ! " 

"Ah!" cut in Jake, another of the comrades, 
" what are you two beefing about? Didn't expect to 
hit any palace over here, and lap your chow off any 
gold plate, did you? You'll have to put that off till 
we get to Berlin. Then — believe me ! — we'll have 
a bobtail Tux and a waiter's apron on Bill, and set 
him to hustling steins ! " 

" Hi ! fellows ! " called another, low enough so 
that his message should not carry across No Man's 
Land. " Look over there, at the Heinie's shoul- 
der! He's using a shovel on the trench! " 

In an instant my little group of boys were looking 
eagerly through the peephole, watching a smudge of 
gray, first appearing then dipping under, at a para- 
pet of one of the Fritz trenches at the foot of the 
wood. It was the shoulder of a Kaiserite, who was 
stolidly shoveling and unconsciously exposing him- 
self to view. 

He was too far away for my comrades to tell you 
what he looked like, but I can tell you, for my spirit 
can see far. He wore a round gray hat on his 
bullet-shaped head. He was one of the uncounted 
masses of the humbler classes raised in Germany, 



" SOME SHOOTING ! " 121 

especially for cannon fodder, to goose-step to death 
at the command of the man with a foppishly curled 
moustache and a withered arm; the man who also 
claims to be cast in the image of the Almighty with 
Whom he affects palship ! 

The dull face of the shoveler belonged to a low 
order of intelligence; in him was no atom of initia- 
tive. The top of his head was not more than an 
inch or two above his large crumpled ears. Like 
so many of the Kaiser's Junker-ridden subjects, he 
had two ideas. One was the Fatherland. The 
other was that the Fatherland would pension him 
when he grew old. In a word is here shown how 
cunningly the rulers of Germany have obtained their 
hold upon a stupid people. 

The gray shoulder was never wholly out of sight 
now, and it presented a fair though moving target 
for an expert shot. 

Immediately a low but earnest discussion began 
among my friends regarding who should have the 
honor of a crack at the Fritzie. 

" Whoever fires must never pick out his head," 
waggishly observed Fred. " He's got a bean like 
a peanut. But his shoulder is ample." 

" Cut out the merry twaddle," urged George, 
" and give me a wallop at him! " 

George was a good shot, but Joe came into the 
conversation with a gentle reminder. 

" You know, George, I beat you in practice. I'm 
not saying anything — but I beat you." 

" That's right," acknowledged George, reluct- 
antly but like a true sportsman. 



122 MOPPING UP! 

So Joe took his rifle and drew a good steady 
bead on the swinging shoulder, aiming to just skim 
the parapet and get him low, where there would be 
a chance at the vitals. 

His friends watched at the peephole, with spar- 
kling eyes and silent with suppressed excitement. 

With the report, from the Pats' trench rose a 
concerted yell of savage triumph. 

The Heinie had sprung into the air, to fall limp 
In the bottom of his trench. 

The next instant the amazed Patricias sprang 
away from the peephole, at which commenced the 
insistent tapping of death. 

The law of the trenches is the ancient law of " an 
eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth." But the Pats 
had not expected so instant, so overwhelming, so 
deadly a demand for reprisal. 

Immediately, against the steel plate that was slit 
for the peephole, rattled a regular fusillade of rifle 
bullets — and soon some of them came through the 
slit though no Pat was at the moment in range of 
them. 

The bullets whi>:h whizzed through the peephole 
buried themselves in the opposite parados one after 
another, in rhythmic succession, launched from the 
muzzles of rifles in the hands of Germans hundreds 
of yards away. My little group of Pat's Pets, care- 
ful now to avoid the caresses of these vicious little 
messengers, felt such wonder as never before had 
held them. 

" Some shooting! " at last said George to Joe, 
whose successful winding of the Heinie had drawn 



" SOME SHOOTING ! " 123 

this hail of vengeful wrath. His tone was trembling 
with the wonderment he felt. 

"Well, rawther!" chimed in my Fred, imitating 
the English accent. His voice, too, despite the at- 
tempt at levity, reflected the general tension that 
was spreading through that trench. 

But Joe said nothing. Then the others, too, fell 
silent, as though dazed, while several more bullets 
skyhooted clean through the peephole to kick up 
the dirt in the rear of the trench. The parados wall 
was fast becoming reinforced with metal through 
the loving attentions of the Kaiser's marksmen. 

Now all eyes became riveted upon Joe, long ac- 
credited one of the best marksmen in Canada. 

The boys ceased speaking; an unusual thing; just 
watching Joe, to whom that day was being given, as 
well as to the rest of them, an unusual experience. 

Joe was sitting there in silent awe, like some un- 
believer who was being forced to accept the evidence 
of something incredible; before which all his past 
ideas of the limits of efficiency were crumbling. 

His black eyes narrowed and sparkled as he con- 
tinued to watch the steel plate and the slit through 
which the bullets continued to come with paralyzing 
frequency. It was as if something deadly infallible 
were pumping missiles at that little mark. 

For hours my boys — some standing and some 
sitting — continued to watch that fusillade, which the 
Huns continued without interruption. They watched 
in fascination, saying little, combating a feeling of 
dismay; reluctantly admitting a conviction that the 
powers of this foe they had come to fight were bet- 



124 MOPPING UP! 

ter than the best that had been previously known. 

There were other lookout points, commanding a 
wide range of vision, that the Huns did not and 
could not discover. Through these each Pat looked 
by turns as the impulse moved him, seeking to pene- 
trate the secret of this marvelous shooting, which 
had been prevented thus far from claiming human 
sacrifice only by God's mercy. 

But the sharpest eye could not yet detect the ex- 
planation. 

Nothing appeared visible on the German front. 
Nothing moved or stirred. There was nothing to 
be seen but an implacable line of sandbags and 
earth. Yet the bullets came In showers and with 
deadly exactitude. 

No puff of smoke, no whiff of any sort, revealed 
from whence they came. What manner of fighting 
was this? A hidden enemy contriving to spew death 
without revealing himself? Bringing a sense of 
unreality to men who had so often won victory in 
practice shooting against the champions of the 
world; and who had been ready at any time to stake 
their lives upon their skill against any champion? 

Here, however, all traditions were set at naught. 
There was something stealthy and horrible about it. 
There was nothing to be seen to shoot at in reprisal 
— yet the enemy's bullets now came through that 
single bull's-eye — slender as it was — in showers, 
seemingly in cynical boastfulness, to show the world 
what Germany had thrust up its brutal sleeve for 
the world's undoing! And the clever Canadians, 
crack shots as they were, were held helpless! 



" SOME SHOOTING! " 125 

There were practical men among the Pats. They 
were doing some deep thinking. 

There had been some hours of this and the men 
were sitting about moodily. There was no talking. 
Finally Joe rose and walked silently to one of the 
observation points the Huns had not yet discovered. 

Joe was half-Indian and half-engineer. He took 
nothing for granted; nothing but facts appealed to 
him. 

He applied his eye to the slit and stood there si- 
lent for a long time. His piercing gaze constantly 
sought No Man's Land and the German parapet, six 
hundred yards across it, from which the constant 
hum of death was proceeding. They were making 
a day of it. 

"Do you see anything, Joe?" finally asked the 
big Boer and crack shot himself. 

"Yes," he replied brusquely. "There are a 
number of suspicious looking holes and black spots. 
That's where the shots are coming from. 

" But I tell you, boys, there's no use of trying 
to get even, this way. Our chance must come in the 
open, I think. We can't compete with this devil's 
work. We haven't the rifles. 

" You'll find that, for shooting from cover, 
they've got something we haven't got. Somehow, 
they've beat the world. 

" But, by God, I'll bet you we find their bayonets 
are no better — nor as good! And after all, when it 
comes to the showdown, the infantry will fight it 
out in the open, with steel, man to man, and not like 
sneaking rats! " 



126 MOPPING UP! 

How many times, in the ensuing months of war, 
was Joe's prophecy of those earhest days to be 
proved true ! 

Then the boys began speculating upon what man- 
ner of devilish device It was that enabled those Prus- 
sians to shoot from six hundred yards as if the dis-. 
stance had been six! 

They knew that no human being could do such 
shooting without the aid of some uncanny helping 
artifice. Not one man, but a line of them were show- 
ing staggering skill. And from that distance bullets 
were coming clean through a slit one-and-a-half 
inches deep, while the rattle of the bullets on the 
plate sounded like hail ! 

It was agreed that Joe had undoubtedly called 
the turn. The answer must lie in one of Germany's 
secrets of war preparation. It was now uncovered, 
though the means were not yet discovered. 

Certainly such " efficiency " had not been prema- 
turely displayed by Germans shooting in the various 
meets in days of peace. Trust the wily military 
powers of the Fatherland for that! 

Later, in shock of battle and its red aftermath, 
the Pats were to learn the explanation of the riddle 
which at first bewildered them. 

When Teutonic prisoners were captured later, 
and their rifles were taken from them, the mystery 
was cleared. Never had rifles been constructed with 
such marvelous telescopic sights; such construction, 
in every way, ahead of the times ! 

It was all a part of the destructive science which 
Germany had been craftily pursuing for forty years. 



"SOME SHOOTING!" 127 

Add to this mechanical perfection the human ele- 
ment; men docile and rather stupid, cogs in a social 
system, devised by autocracy, which provided that 
the son of a butcher should also be a butcher, yet 
trained for a prescribed period in the arts of war 
that made of him a dead shot; and you have the 
frightful peril that civilization faced in the dark 
days which ushered in the world's war in the sum- 
mer of 1914. 



O' 



CHAPTER XIII 
THE RELIEF 

TILL endured that forced inaction which 

^^ seemed, somehow, to be the plan of " pro- 
cedure," and which had irked my comrades 
smce they had enlisted. First had been the delay 
in leaving Canada; then that in England, and now, 
in France, it appeared to the boys that they were 
only marking time ! 

Crouching in the front line trench, in the rain and 
mud, they began to use the soldier's privilege and 
growl about this, as soon as they felt a little used to 
their new surroundings. 

" I can't understand why we're here, of all spots ! " 
ran the comment. " Why aren't we advancing along 
this wood, so as to gain the high ridge? Yes, or 
why not retire to this little ridge behind us? It 
surely looks to me as if the Fritzies have all the best 
lookout places, and there's no need of it! I'll bet, 
too, that their trenches are dryer than ours; their 
beans may be thick, but they use 'em! " 

So the talk ran, but be sure it was echoed by 
many another regiment than my Pats, in both sets 
of trenches. For it is a characteristic of all sol- 
diers to do a lot of " beefing," and when the action 
begins to forget it and fight like hell itself. 

It was in that first dark, dismal, stormy night of 

128 



THE RELIEF 129 

which I have spoken, with bullets zipping, whiz- 
bangs and " winnies " popping and whining, creat- 
ing death on every side, that my friend Captain 
Newton received his mortal wound. He was the 
first Canadian officer to be killed while fighting for 
justice on European soil. 

My fancy could readily picture the last look of 
grim determination on his fighting face. And the 
spirit which spread like a consuming fire among the 
men when he had fallen; the spirit embracing 
the Mosaic law of reprisal! 

Now that blood had been shed as a sacrifice, It 
would be henceforth fiend against fiend. The world 
'has learned, since the film of the latter day Attila's 
challenge to the Anglo-Saxon and his Allies has been 
unrolled, how uncompromising can be the just wrath 
of the Canuck! 

Upon hearing of his fate, I recalled my first meet- 
ing with the Captain, back In Canada. It was in 
the village of Fort Levis. We were on one of the 
route marches I loved so well, and were resting on 
the summit of a hill. 

The Captain called me to his side and stroked my 
back, while we talked together like brothers. He 
had one of those rare low voices that I love 
and he spoke words that were pleasant to my 
ear. 

Flushed with health, the picture of splendid young 
strength, he drew me to him In the sunlight and 
looked deep Into my eyes. He put his cheek to 
mine. 

"Poor Bob!" he said, "you like this sort of 



I30 MOPPING UP! 

thing, I know." I wagged my tail to tell him how 
much I liked it. 

Some cattle were grazing in a nearby field. He 
pointed to them. 

"Wouldn't you like to be there with them?" he 
asked. 

I ran over toward the cattle, whirled, and re- 
turned to his side. 

Just then a sergeant took me by the collar and 
began to tell me what a wonderful dog I was. He 
addressed the Captain and a lieutenant by his side. 

" I wonder how Bob is going to like the music of 
the big guns? I'll bet they frighten him; that Is, If 
he hears them. I think the war will be over before 
we get there. The Germans will retreat directly to 
their own country." 

The Captain and lieutenant said nothing, but they 
smiled at each other, slightly and significantly. I 
understood that smile. They thought the sergeant 
was too optimistic. 

And now my sunny Captain was the first epaulet- 
ted victim of the Huns, who had no thought of re- 
treating! 

When the news of his death reached me I felt 
more miserable than I can express. I felt that I 
wanted to be with my boys while they were facing 
dangers; I wanted to share their dangers. 

What pitiful wrecks of humanity now daily be- 
gan to come back from the front ! My friends who 
had but a few days before been so filled with vi- 
tality and the ardor of life! I met them, and I 
knew deep sorrow at witnessing the ravages this 



THE RELIEF 131 

war had made in them, in only a few short hours. 

It was not only the wounded; such sights as I 
saw in wounds of the body were horrible enough. 
But there were sights that were worse; and they 
were the wounds of the mind. 

" Shell shock," the doctors called it. I under- 
stand it was the effect of the men being too close to 
the thunderous noises, the booming that we were 
always hearing at the rear. I could not under- 
stand it exactly; but I came to know the fearsome 
effects. 

I ran joyfully up to some of my friends who had 
come back from the front — and they did not know 
me. Worse than that, they would stare past me as 
if I were not there at all — and when I rubbed my 
body against their legs, seeking a caress, they seem- 
ingly did not feel It. They stared with glazed eyes 
— at nothing; their faces were blank and drawn and 
white; when they tried to talk they only mumbled 
meaningless things. 

They were like men walking In their sleep, In the 
grip of some dark dream which they could not shake 
off. They were not trusted alone ; they were in the 
care of others, who led them about gently, as If they 
had been blind men. Yet they were not blind; they 
could see; yet they did not see! 

What a terrible fate ! It Is one unknown In my 
world of dogs, save sometimes In those weird days 
of heat in August, which always depress me so. 

I tried so hard to make these friends, who were 
now strangers, understand and know me. Then I 
would creep away reluctJintly, shivering, and lie 



132 MOPPING UPl 

down and watch them in dumb wonder. It seemed 
to me that theirs was a sadder fate than if they 
had been killed in the trenches. For If a bullet 
struck home or a shell exploded, it was only the 
body that was killed. And with these poor boys — 
God help them ! — it was the mind! 

My inner knowledge told me that the mind of 
man or beast was the Immortal part. But if that 
mind were destroyed; could there be resurrection 
beyond? 

I can only discern these truths. I cannot read the 
answer beyond them. I can only have faith — and 
wait. And that I do ! 

These days were certainly filled with bitter edu- 
cation for me. I had seen men hunting and killing 
moose and deer In my Northland. But I had not 
imagined that they hunted and killed each other, to 
say nothing of horses. For they ate the moose and 
deer. So It seemed a wicked and useless waste of 
life to me ! To kill for sustenance is to my tradi- 
tions — which, of course, date back to my father, the 
wolf — the first law of nature. To kill for the lust 
of killing is degeneracy. And it is In this abyss of 
blood that autocracy plans to keep the shuddering 
world ! 

Wet feet, water from above and mud and water 
below, thus attended my Pats' initiation Into trench 
life. But they all managed to keep their spirits 
well buoyed up till the second night, when they ex- 
pected to be relieved. Their casualties for these 
first hours had been very light. A few were re- 
ported missing; that terrible word in army reports 



THE RELIEF 133 

which usually comprises the unidentified dead. 
Fighting a good fight, they fell to the glory of their 
race. 

It was a " snipers' " battle. The keenest eye that 
ever narrowed behind a rifle sight could not " plug " 
a silver dollar with every shot at five hundred or 
six hundred yards. Yet this is practically what my 
boys were required to do to compete with the im- 
proved Teutonic telescopic sights of which I have 
spoken. 

Misguided and misinformed mentally about what 
they were up against; at first believing that condi- 
tions were equal, the Pats gallantly coped with a 
vastly superior equipment, and successfully, but 
sooner or later too many of them were caught. 

Many of them would go on swimmingly for days, 
and each day would see several new " nicks " cut 
in the stocks of their guns. Such was the record 
of Sergeant Brown. He was the best shot in the 
battalion. He cared little how much he saw of his 
mark, so long as he saw some part of it. He would 
often fire in one bullet after another to see how 
many he could fire without missing the hole — but 
finally, he, too, got careless. All were agreed that, 
if he had possessed the German telescopic sights, 
not a Hun he faced could have matched him. 

On this night of the expected relief. No. 4 Com- 
pany waited for what seemed ages for the relief that 
never came. Every minute seemed an hour and 
every hour a month through that long wet night; 
demonstrating anew that time is measured most 
exactly in suffering. 



134 MOPPING UP! 

They watched and waited alike for friend and 
foes. The Brassery Road was lined with dead 
French and German soldiers who had fought the 
issue to the red finish in No Man's Land. The 
French had driven the Germans from trenches, the 
Pats held, but at awful cost. The foes lay as they 
had fallen — in many cases in death grips, many 
men falling as they had driven the bayonets home. 
Some lay quietly, relaxed, and It was plain to see 
that death had come mercifully in an Instant. 
Others had twisted and writhed in their pain before 
they succumbed to red wounds. 

Such were the sights that greeted the eyes gazing 
through the twisted strands of barbed wire. 

The Icy winds of the North Sea, always sharp as 
cold steel, were doubly so on this bleak night of 
extra waiting. All wearing apparel seemed like 
porous cheesecloth in the shrieking wind and driv- 
ing rain. It was cruel! 

Not one Enfield rifle in hundreds was now fit to 
be used, because of the mire, and not one soldier In 
fifty was able to stand up straight, to say nothing 
of using his rifle ! My boys were so utterly ex- 
hausted! 

If only the enemy had known their condition it 
seems inevitable that they could have rushed the 
trenches and captured them, but perhaps they were 
no better off. The north wind was playing no 
favorites; Its congealing breath was against every 
man. With the mud It made war on all. The rea- 
son he did not attack then is because he recoils from 
taking a chance. 



THE RELIEF 135 

It was purely psychological — and it explains why 
Fritz did not win in his first desperate dash — and 
why he will be eventually beaten and his bombastic 
pretensions crushed to powder. 

It is why his years of cunning mechanical prepara- 
tion went for nothing. He was against a fighting 
essence that sets at naught all his preparation. For 
in the great gamble of war the ideal gamester is the 
one who wins. 

Since returning to my Northland and thinking 
things over, remembering what I saw, I know this. 
That with Russia and Roumania gone; that with 
the East in the grip of Germany; that even if Italy, 
exhausted, were to make peace, the hordes of the 
Hun would in the end be beaten. 

Why? Because, in a battle to the death, they 
have aligned against them three great nations that 
will — and do — take chances. I mention them in the 
order in which they entered the conflict. 

France, that Hun propagandists despised and 
flouted as a foolish weakhng among nations; France 
whose irresistible dash is only equaled by her stead- 
fastness. 

Britain's army of millions of " contemptibles "; 
British fighters of whom, early in the war, a Ger- 
man general complained that " we have them beaten, 
but the fools don't know it! " 

America's army of Yankee nerve and speed and 
fighting spirit; traditionally impatient of any method 
of warfare that hesitates to take a chance, and of 
tenacity that matches that of the parent British 
stock. 



136 MOPPING UP I 

Against this trio of Powers — even with the aid of 
Japan to Britain in controlling the seas not counted 
— nor the moral force of the great bulk of civilized 
lands rallied against Germany — what chance has the 
Hun in the ultimate trenches? 

I have seen; I have heard; I have digested. 
Therefore I prophesy. Defeat for Attila is as cer- 
tain as that to-morrow's sun will rise ! 

Reverting to our unrelieved position in the 
trenches, Lieutenant Pearse sent word back that his 
men were nearly perished from cold and hunger, 
and that either food or relief must be sent. An- 
swer was received that " perhaps " relief would 
come before 6 a.m. 

My poor boys waited, with hope revived. At 
last 6 A.M. arrived, 6:15, 6:20, 6:30; at last 
broad daylight — and no relief. 

Not one man in a hundred felt equal to another 
half-hour without a rest. But a phrase recurred 
to them: 

*' Canada expects that this day every man will 
do his duty." 

They were sons of that race to which Lord Nel- 
son signaled so many years before. In one of the 
greatest hours In the history of the English people. 
So — they hung on! Canadians would be the last 
to show the white feather ! 

Another weary day of rending hunger and ago- 
nizing cold passed with abominable slowness. But 
an expression of will to " stick it " appeared on 
every man's face. And they did " stick it," in a 



THE RELIEF 137 

fashion that brought honor to the sons of the young 
nation across the sea. 

Through drizzling, dragging, desolate misery 
crawled the hours of that last dreadful day — and 
no hope came till another dawn. 

Through the night my boys held to faith in the 
cause and to hope in their friends; and only these 
powerful forces seemed to keep them alive till 
the hour of relief. It was a stubborn mental fight 
over matter; and obstinate matter, too. Many men, 
when relief did come, had to be assisted out of the 
trench as they were too weak to extricate their feet 
from the sticky Flanders mud. Two men died that 
night from cold and exposure, without the contribut- 
ing cause of a single wound. 

The German sentries must have surely been 
asleep, or they would not have overlooked that re- 
lief finally coming up after daybreak! 

Each minute the approaching men were exposed 
to fire seemed an hour to my boys, who feared that 
the fire of the enemy would begin and stop the 
advance. 

On they came, however, over the open fields and 
roads, in plain sight of the enemy, for we had then 
no communication trenches. 

Joe, one of my friends, poked his head high above 
the parapet; for all the world as if deliberately to 
draw the enemy's fire. But he was not thinking 
of the enemy; he was thinking of the relief. 

Unconsciously his cunning Indian Instinct was as- 
serting itself. His black eyes were sparkling; and 
so widely opened were they that the whites circled 



;i38 MOPPING UP! 

all around the twinkling pupils. Evidently Fritz 
was decidedly off duty, for not a shot was taken at 
the fifty or more heads that, in uncontrollable ex- 
citement, followed Joe's above the parapet. 

The men of the relief kept coming; slowly, slowly, 
over the wet, sticky, muddy ground, for at every 
step their boots sank deep in the mire. Sometimes 
it seemed to the watchers — keyed for the possible 
fusillade from the German trenches — that it took 
a full minute for some of them to extricate their 
plodding feet from the quagmire. 

Were they really moving? Yes; they were com- 
ing — closer, closer. 

" Praise God ! " almost sobbed one Canuck. 

"Shut up!" fiercely admonished a comrade. 
" The Fritzies may hear us. They must be waking 
up now." 

The exhausted Company was relieved by another 
at 6 : 30 in the morning, without an enemy shot be- 
ing fired! It was one of the miracles of the war, 
and my Pats who survive are sure it had not hap- 
pened before, nor has it happened since ! 

The Lieutenant entered with his men as coolly as 
if on parade. Came a few hasty words of whis- 
pered instructions, and the relieved men, half-frozen, 
started back over the road on which the relief had 
come. They had been in that trench for seventy- 
two hours ! 

How such a sizeable body of men had escaped the 
notice of the enemy, less than two hundred yards 
away, baffled us. They must have had lookouts — 
but God is good to His own. Perhaps the look- 



THE RELIEF 139 

outs took the relief for an attacking force, and fig- 
ured they would let them get nearer so as to rake 
them with machine guns. Or perhaps the lookouts 
were asleep. That is my opinion. Else why, in re- 
tiring, were not the relieved men fired upon ? 



CHAPTER XIV 
"FOREVER . . . AMEN I" 

MY relieved Patricias arrived at a small wood 
south of the road. There they remained 
all day in supports; and it was quite a com- 
fortable change from the front line trenches, for 
this half of the battalion. For they had such com- 
forts as straw to lie upon and dugouts for coverings. 

But here was no security, if one were careless. 
Each man who ventured into the open to try to 
improve his position was fired at by German snipers 
posted in a wood on a hill overlooking the dugouts 
two thousand yards away from them. 

Think of the marvelous efficiency of those im- 
proved German telescopic sights ! Men firing at 
others from concealed positions over a mile away 
— and too often winging them ! 

The men who had to go into the support trenches 
that evening had a hard night of it. A bleak wind 
drove the rain through their clothing as if it were 
a pure cotton fabric instead of all-wool serge. But 
serge or canvas looked alike to these Belgian rains. 
They could penetrate almost anything! 

" Is that why the Belgians put straw on top of 
the tile roofs of their houses?" asked one of the 
boys sarcastically. 

" Oh," rejoined another, " I guess it isn't quite 
sharp enough to drive through tile! " 

140 



"FOREVER . . . AMEN!" 141 

" I don't know," retorted the first man. " I be- 
lieve it could drive through cold steel itself I" 

It was the same with the Canuck army boots, 
or even the famous Canadian water boot, the pene- 
tanguishene, so called by the Indians to describe its 
water and wear qualities. 

It seemed that nothing could resist the penetrat- 
ing drizzle of that rain, though it must be recorded 
that the penetanguishene withstood it better than 
did anything else. It possessed the element of 
toughness that must enter into all Canuck articles 
of wear, intended for a land where the weather, 
the seasons round, runs to extremes. 

Yes, and this element of toughness and fibre en- 
ters into Canada's living creatures, too, from men to 
moose ! 

Where is there another animal to compare in 
speed, strength and vitality with our moose, who is 
so ungainly that he is almost beautiful in my forest- 
trained eyes? Watch him as he successfully battles 
with an Arctic winter, contending with his enemies 
to the death! He emerges from the cover in the 
spring round and fat — and he has fattened on adver- 
sity! 

Before the war the world did not know my Ca- 
nadians — but it knows them now! They are fierce 
upholders of a primal law that is the essence of 
their blood, the law of the survival of the fittest. 
And they fight now in order that liberty, the fittest 
of all human ideals, may survive. 

The intermittent battle went on for two more days 
and nights. Parties " carried home " to the Hua 



142 MOPPING UP! 

in his stronghold, giving no quarter and asking for 
none. The Canucks knew and accepted the fact 
that the Hun was ruthless. The grim record since 
those days is ample evidence that, in the man's test, 
the Hun learned to respect and fear the Canuck. 

After two nights in the support trenches the bat- 
talion was marched to billets at Westoutre. The 
billets were two large barns only a few hundred feet 
from the village. The machine gun crews, head- 
quarters staff and quartermaster occupied houses 
in the village. 

It was here that a concert was given Lieutenant 
Pearse. At this affair was sung for the first time 
the famous " Louse Song." Also a trench song 
that has since become famous, " I want to go 
home." 

Our barns, like all Flemish stables, were very 
dirty. The water was thick with dirt and could be 
smelled many yards away. However, all had the 
chance to clean and dry their clothing, and this was 
something to be thankful for. 

What a state that clothing was in ! Trousers, 
tunics, overcoats, were thickly caked with mud. In 
some cases it had even penetrated to the undercloth- 
ing. It was sticky; in consistency it resembled some 
putrid, ill-smelling glue, only that it was slippery 
and nearly as hard when dry. 

On January 14 the battalion moved again, this 
time about a mile nearer the firing line. This farm 
was prosperous, as Flemish farms go. In the barns 
were many head of cattle. It proved quite a com- 
fortable place in which to lodge. 



"FOREVER . . . AMEN!" 143 

Eagerly the boys looked about them and found 
that conveniently nearby they could buy coffee and 
brandy, besides eggs and bread and other com- 
forts. They planned for an enjoyable time there, 
but the next day they were ordered back to the 
trenches. 

My Pats were in support trenches this time, at a 
place called Schelly's farm. For forty-eight hours 
they did fatigue work. Then the battalion was or- 
dered back to Westoutre, a march of five miles. 
They arrived tired and dirty, much pleased with 
rumors that they were to be sent to an adjacent 
village for much-needed baths. For days they had 
not been able to pay themselves any accustomed at- 
tention, and the filth, dirt and vermin were abomi- 
nable. 

But did this dream of baths materialize? Not 
just yet! 

That Is, in no official form. But many of the boys 
contrived, somehow, to get Into a little more pre- 
sentable condition. They were learning, though, 
that conditions were more primitive than had ob- 
tained in any preceding war of modern times. 

After a rest of four days orders were Issued that 
my boys pack up and proceed to the trenches again; 
this time to St. Eloi. The trenches were within fifty 
yards of the German lines, and the P.P.C.L.I.'s 
had to go over open ground for several hundred 
yards to enter them. 

In doing so they passed the noted great St. Eloi 
mound. This mound of black earth, which gave 
the impression that it had been built at some time 



144 MOPPING UP! 

for a memorial, was remindful of the relics of the 
Mound Builders in America, save that the latter 
mounds are round instead of square. 

While the Pats were marching toward the trenches 
they were exposed to German fire, and it was then 
that Lieutenant Price and several men were 
wounded, some fatally. Lieutenant Price, one of 
the finest of fellows, died in a couple of 
hours. 

The trenches were shallow, with mud and water 
knee-deep. To the left they were not even yet con- 
solidated, so it was necessary during the night for 
my Pats to assist the engineers in doing this work. 
This was not the pleasantest of nocturnal occupa- 
tions, for the Germans, at that point less than fifty 
yards away, were sniping the whole night through. 

While engaged in this particular shift, on the next 
day, January 25, my gallant friend. Lieutenant Fitz- 
gerald, was shot through the head. He died within 
the hour. 

It was a sad day for our Company, which missed 
him deeply. I knew him well, and when I think of 
him there come to me memories of the famous 
knights and chevaliers whose names are imperish- 
able in song and story. His was a personality which 
commanded alike the love and respect of those who 
knew him. For he possessed the qualities which 
endear man to man. 

A gentleman he was, of one of the noblest and 
most courageous of Irish families. His was the 
charm of the best of the sons of the Emerald Isle, 
which has sent so many such sons overseas to grace 



"FOREVER . . . AMENl" 145 

with laughter and fascinate with good-fellowship the 
various realms of the world. 

Considered in an earthly sense, mine is a terrible 
story — if we stop at the destruction of the bodies 
of such splendid men as Fitzgerald. But — by vir- 
tue of my faith and my vision — I look beyond and 
am comforted — for I see their spirits waiting yon- 
der in the fields of green that lie beyond the fields 
of blood. 

The Germans shelled our trenches severely, but 
they seemed unable to place their shells where they 
wanted. I think the Pats were too close to their 
own lines for them to be able to shell them accur- 
ately. 

Time wore on and it drew near the hour for the 
relief. Just before the desolate dawn, when the 
field was still wrapped in darkness relieved fitfully 
by the flashes of the star shells, and the big guns 
on both sides were sullenly thundering, Major Gait 
of the Pats called to his side my Pendragon and 
three other men. 

The little group stood together in the trench. 

" Jack," said the Major soberly, " these two poor 
fellows must be taken care of." 

He pointed to two huddled, miry, bloody bodies 
lying in the bottom of the trench. They had en- 
tered it to fight with their comrades. It had been 
their last battle. Following the gesture of Major 
Gait, the four men he had summoned viewed the 
mangled dead figures of Lance Corporal Murphy 
and Private Crooks. 

Major Gait gave the remainder of his order. 



146 MOPPING UP! 

" Men, you see that ruined house, five hundred yards 
back there? Take along a spade and bury them in 
the back yard. Then proceed to billets." 

Crooks had been killed by a bullet through the 
neck, and a shot through the leg had finished Mur- 
phy, who had bled to death. The four men of the 
burial squad lifted the sagging weights out of the 
trench and started with them for the appointed 
place of sepulchre in open view of the enemy. 

They had to proceed across an open space already 
swept — early as it was — with rifle fire from the 
German trenches, between two and three hundred 
yards away. 

Could the Germans see them? 

It seemed hardly possible not to see them, for 
dim gleams from the east portended the swift ap- 
proach of dawn. 

Yet, all the way to the improvised burial plot, 
the bullets spattered about them in the mud. 

There must be no time lost, else there might be 
more than the two bodies t^ bury by the time the 
spot was reached. 

Because of the need for haste, a pair from the 
squad of four each took a body. Grasping it by 
the arms they pulled it toward the back yard. The 
inert forms, even the heads of the dead men, were 
dragged along through the mire. This did not mat- 
ter. The essence of them that still lived and 
breathed the breath of immortality was now far be- 
yond the possibility of hurt or the touch of degrada- 
tion. 

When the detail reached the back yard dawn was 



"FOREVER . . . AMEN!" 147 

breaking. Like ghosts in the lessening darkness, 
that was now subtly changing to the gray mists 
of the morning — mists chill as death itself — now 
appeared the moving forms of the detail to the foe 
in the Hun trenches, a foe which the scenes of 
this war were to prove had degenerated to the bar- 
barities of the Dark Ages. For it had respect 
neither for the living nor for the dead. 

" Jack," said one of the men, " we must hurry, 
or we'll never get out of here alive. They've seen 
us, all right; their fire is thickening." 

So it was arranged that the grave — one to ac- 
commodate both bodies — be dug by the men work- 
ing in relays. One man vv^as to work as fast as pos- 
sible, another to relieve him at the end of a minute, 
and thus on till the work was finished. For each 
moment that the task should endure, death stood 
at the elbow of the digger. 

As the moments crawled by, the light grew 
stronger and the figure of the grave digger clearer 
among the writhing mists. The other three men 
would crouch behind a protecting brick pile in the 
vicinity, awaiting their turns. 

There was no doubt that the German riflemen 
were training their weapons on the successive ghostly 
figures toiling with the spade. Bullets spattered 
thickly about them. How it happened that none of 
the missiles found a living target was always a mat- 
ter of wonderment to the members of that detail. 

It was as if the Lord of Hosts, mindful of the na- 
ture of their errand, protected them. 

At last a wide grave was dug, some three feet 



148 MOPPING UP! 

deep, just enough so that the two bodies should be 
decently covered. Swift progress had been made, 
digging in the mud. 

Into the grave the two bodies were hurriedly 
rolled and the earth thrown upon them till a sizable 
mound was made. Meanwhile, the rain of bullets 
had grown thicker. They kicked up the mud at 
the feet of the men; they rattled against the brick 
pile ; they whistled in the damp air, through the ris- 
ing mists, close to the ears of the detail. While 
in the east, slowly, sullenly, as if in protest, kindled 
the bleak dawn. 

All was done now but the last office; one attended 
with risk that was now almost prohibitive. But 
to leave them there, like that; the men of the detail 
could not do it ! 

" Jack," suddenly said Private Harry Bristow, 
now major, serving on the Western Front, " let's 
stand there, and you say the Lord's Prayer before 
we go." 

He had voiced the thought that had been in the 
minds of four men. 

They circled around the shallow grave. It was 
growing lighter. Immediately the rain of bullets, 
falling about them, was intensified. 

It had grown light enough so the Huns could 
see what their errand had been. 

This made no difference — to the Hun. 

Came the words of the immortal prayer, spoken 
not too hurriedly, despite the risk; passages inter- 
spersed by the fall of bullets of hate, in men's de- 
fiance of the Omniti^otent message of love : 



''FOREVER . . . AMEN!" 149 

" Our Father Who art in Heaven. Hallowed 
be Thy name . . ." Crack! A bullet, striking a 
wet bank, threw mud into the face of one of the 
four men who were standing with bared heads. 

" Thy Kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth 
as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, 
and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those 
who trespass against us." 

Ping! S plush! A bullet penetrated a tin utensil 
at the feet of one of the men. Another stirred the 
mud a foot away from another of the detail. 

" Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from 
evil, for Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and 
the Glory . . ." 

Crack! . . . crack! . . . crack! 
''Forever . . . Amen!" 

Dawn was accomplished. 

Was beginning another day of hate, of horror, of 
hell. 

The sun was rising over the fields of death. 

Amid a fresh fusillade, the four men of the burial 
detail, miraculously unharmed, hurried from the 
new-made grave and hastened to billets. 



CHAPTER XV 
TRENCH LIFE 

IT was that night when the Patricias were relieved 
and went into billets at Dickebusch. Their 
sleep was certainly that of the just — " about 
tired enough," for they had not closed their eyes 
for three nights. 

On the 27th of January they left again for sup- 
port trenches at St. Eloi, and remained there till 
the 29th. 

On the last day of January the first draft from 
England arrived. Some of the men left there 
when we came over arrived as reinforcements, and 
brought with them other Canadians from the 
nth and 12th Battalions. Our casualties, counting 
cases of illness, numbered 300 or more up to that 
time, so the help from the " tight little isle " was 
welcome. 

My Pats spent that day in Dickebusch billets, and 
toward evening they began to prepare to leave for 
the trenches again. One company was luckless that 
night. It was slated to hold trenches on Schelly's 
farm, but for some unaccountable reason the detail 
was unable to find those particular trenches. In the 
effort to find them the men were marched back and 
forth for several hours parallel with the German 
lines. 

150 



TRENCH LIFE 151 

It was miraculous that no casualties occurred 
during that erratic hike. The night was bright, and 
the Huns could hardly have escaped seeing these big 
fellows slipping and tugging along, in full marching 
order, across the open country. 

Their steps were accompanied by a staccato of 
rifle fire. The bullets clicked or zipped, the sound 
depending on whether they struck in soft or on hard 
ground. They were falling uncomfortably close. 
Sometimes there would sound a sharp crack, as if a 
rifle had been shot close to their ears. This always 
meant that a bullet had landed well within range, 
and invariably brought such signs of agitation as 
sudden starts, or curses, or perhaps uneasy 
laughter. 

That there might be no monotony, sometimes 
there would sound a prolonged s-s-s — zim-m-m-m, 
a sound impossible to adequately describe, but as 
full of malice as an evil-tempered rattlesnake. The 
hissing disturbance would last for several seconds, 
and invariably meant that a bullet was ricochetting in 
the general direction of the detail. 

Altogether, that march back and forth, to find 
where they belonged, was a severe test of the boys' 
nerve, but they underwent it in fine style and finally 
found their trenches and entered them with a swing 
as if on parade. 

With their rifles glistening in the moonlight, and 
the star shells of friend and foe shooting skyward 
in all directions, there were but two slight casualties, 
hardly more than flesh wounds. 

On arriving at their trench, by the way, they ran 



152 MOPPING UP! 

into a fire about as hot as what they had been under- 
going — but this latter fusillade was purely vocal! 

The poor boys they were relieving had been due 
to leave the trenches at ten o'clock at night — and the 
relieving detail did not wander in till two o'clock in 
the morning! 

They were received with a volley of sarcastic 
grumbles. 

*' Hello, what-t'-hell ! Been having a little supper 
after the show? What's her name? Are your 
spats on straight? " 

" Hi ! fellows, look what's blew in ! My word ! 
if here ain't the Rookies Brigade, an' they've 
brought their knitting along. I say, Girls, tell us 
the latest scandals ! " 

" Hey ! Bill ! Pipe the Bunch what has come 
to play with us ! Open a chocolate box for 'em, an' 
get out the rocking horses ! " 

*' Aw, the hell with you ! " growled a tall 
Canadian, the first of the relieving detail to re- 
cover from the unexpected warmth of this welcome- 
to-our-trenches. " You poor prunes must roll your 
fags with leaves from Joe Miller's Joke Book! If 
you'd been out where we've been the last four hours, 
you'd been leggin' it back, curse you, and you 
wouldn't ha' stopped till you'd swum to Blighty, 
neither ! " 

So, snarling at one another, they separated; the 
men who had waited to be relieved, and the men 
who had waited — while marching hither and yon — 
to relieve them. 

Summing it up, it was certainly hard on both 



TRENCH LIFE 153 

sides. It could be laid to the unintentional blunder 
of the guides, who chanced to be new at the game. 

This new detail was to remain in the trenches only 
twenty-four hours, but for a reason unknown at 
first, they had to remain an extra twenty-four. But 
as this was not an especially hard part of the line, 
there was no complaint at first, and the boys en- 
joyed a distinctly novel experience. They roamed 
about the trench and No Man's Land in the moon- 
light, did some needed work on it, and enjoyed a 
social interval with no interference whatever from 
the enemy. 

It transpired that this was only because the enemy 
was interfering, with all his powers, at other parts 
of the line! 

There were distinctly two playing that game, and 
unfortunately the enemy was equipped to be the 
aggressor. He had all the machinery known to 
modern science. He was using it to the full extent 
of his brutal capacity, in defiance of all just rules 
as preconceived by Canadians and other white men 
of the world. He was bombing women and chil- 
dren; he was firing at litter-bearers, tending the 
wounded, and at details who were burying the dead. 
He was maturing his Satanic plan of releasing poi- 
sonous gases; a device yet to be loosed. 

Just at present, however, his efforts along that 
line Vv^ere momentarily legitimate, even for a Hun. 

He was attacking at different points of the 
trenches, while that portion of the front line trench 
held by this new detail, which had marched several 
hours to find its station, was left unhindered. 



154 MOPPING UP! 

This was all very well for the first twenty-four 
hours, for the boys had rations to cover that period 
of time. But, for the next twenty-four, while they 
waited to be relieved, it was a different story. 

It was impossible to relieve them. The men who 
would have done so, in the natural order of events, 
had been obliged to enter other trenches to help 
hold them against attack. It is through such exi- 
gencies as these that men detailed for tv/enty-four 
hours in the trenches often have to remain forty- 
eight, seventy-two, even longer, till the strength of 
an attack somewhere is spent and it becomes pos- 
sible again to strike a balance of forces. In war 
it is always the unexpected that must be coped with. 
For this reason, as time went on, the Pats began 
to get a clearer idea of the perplexities of the 
officers, and their patience and philosophy deepened 
with the weary days. 

Under the circumstances, the detail was lucky to 
be relieved in forty-eight hours. 

It was at ten o'clock at night that the relief detail 
came. The majority were so weak they could not 
walk to billets, and the officers had to send for 
transport wagons. 

" Ye gods of war! " exclaimed one of my friends, 
" is it come to pass that the private soldier is getting 
recognition from the British transport?" 

It was so; but so serious was the state of many 
of those men that they could have never got back 
to billets without this jolting but welcome aid. 

Those who entered the wagons, many having to 
be helped into them by the officers, were asleep in a 



TRENCH LIFE 155 

few minutes under circumstances that seemed in- 
compatible with slumber. Fancy being sunk in the 
deepest sleep while lying in the bottom of a wagon 
without springs, rumbling and bumping over the 
roughest of cobblestone roads ! It was a depth of 
slumber that reveals the depths of exhaustion. 

It was difficult to rouse the sleepers when the 
wagons arrived at billets. The men's feet were so 
sore that yells of agony were heard when they re- 
moved their shoes. In the morning their feet were 
so swollen that they could not don the stiff rough- 
ened leather again. However, they adopted the 
expedient of hobbling about barefoot for a while, 
and were then able, though with much pain, to 
wear their boots, though without socks. 

This first rest was in improvised billets In a wood, 
slightly southwest of Dickebusch. They were then 
marched about six miles to some barns near West- 
outre. It seemed a long and tiresome tramp to 
men whose vitality had been lowered by their con- 
stant exertions, which were constantly sapping their 
strength — these men of the strongest of strong 
battalions. And they were accepting their trials 
grimly; now mostly In silence. The esprit de corps 
of the army was spreading. 

Among all their trials, the men's feet were now 
giving them the most trouble. To undergo such 
heavy marching, after a man's feet were frostbitten, 
required at least as much nerve as most men can 
muster ! However, there were no quitters. But 
there were complaints that the transport should be 
requisitioned more frequently, for while men were 



156 MOPPING UP! 

hobbling with frozen feet to and from details, the 
horses were resting ! 

It was realized, however, that war was war, and 
that orders must be obeyed. " Do or die " Is the 
motto of the army. Indeed, some men did drop 
out, more dead than alive, and were carried to 
their quarters, game to the last, their wills unbeaten 
though their bodies had been forced to succumb for 
the time being. 

In such a case, the steps came dragglngly, heavier 
and heavier, while the legs above the suifering feet 
shook, and shook like leaves In a raw wind. Then 
would come a thud as the poor fellow fell In a dead 
faint on the cobblestones of the road, to be picked 
up by his comrades as if he were a child. They 
would carry him to the side of the road and others 
would relieve him of the weight of his equipment 
and distribute it among themselves, as extra weight. 
Then they would march on, and he would lie and 
rest for a while, finally staggering up to follow them 
with hobbling steps. 

The inhumanity in war brings out a corresponding 
humanity In the hearts of men toward their com- 
rades ! It is wonderful, the flashing sidelights which 
bring out the weird contrasts in the Jekyll and Hyde 
scheme which seems to rule the world! 

My boys. In moments of battle, presented the 
awful semblance of wild beasts unloosed in the 
arena — and In the lulls which brought a fleeting 
breath of peace, their hearts were like the hearts 
of little children ! 

But tired as were the boys, it was always with a 



TRENCH LIFE 157 

martial stride, with at least a suggestion of the 
swanky dash which had endeared them to the hearts 
of Canadians, that they invariably swung to their 
destination, whether it be the billets or the trenches. 

So it was with this night of which I have told. 
They were aroused early the next morning, Febru- 
ary 8 for rifle inspection. It was the first time this 
had been ordered since they had gone into the 
trenches, and it was no easy matter under the cir- 
cumstances to get themselves spotless. 

However, they rose nobly to the occasion and 
stood on the roadway for an hour or more for their 
usual waiting till the inspecting officers should arrive. 

It was Inevitable, of course. It was necessary 
to get the rifles cleaned and keep them clean. Be- 
sides, the Pats' officers were put to as much trouble 
as the men. They, too, had to make themselves 
spotless before inspection, and everybody knew that 
all such orders came from H.Q. 

Always the officers of the Pats shared the men's 
rigors as they did their triumphs. They endured 
the same hardships; were just as sensitive to the 
vagaries of the thermometer; did the same amount 
of marching; had perhaps as little to eat; the same 
scanty allowance of rum. 

In fact, I have known times when they have had 
less of rum; when they gave their portion to some 
suffering man o' the line and went without any 
themselves. 

Reflections like these passed through the minds 
of the privates as they stood In line that morning, 
waiting to be Inspected. "We're all in it!" So 



158 MOPPING UP! 

ran their thoughts. So they cheerfully stood in the 
road and obeyed the commands of the N.C.O.'s over 
and over again, " just to pass the time away," and 
counteract the piercing blast of the wind. Such 
elementary commands as "'Shun! (Attention) 
Form fours! Stand at ease!" etc., were thus re- 
peated many times during the hour of waiting. 

But with all the philosophy which the men had 
been forced to cultivate towards headquarters, it 
was hard to acquit them of some measure of blame 
for keeping the men waiting in a freezing wind 
which lowered their vitality, already sapped by their 
experiences to a degree that rendered them more fit 
for a convalescent hospital than for this test of 
endurance. However, it was all in " a soldier's 
day." 

At last the officers arrived for the inspection. At 
last! 

On February 9 the Pats were paraded in order 
to make wire entanglements for the front line 
trenches. All worked at this with that sportive 
spirit and jolly good will that the volunteer soldier 
injects into all his work. Also, many of them were 
set to making willow baskets to hold earth to rein- 
force the parapet. This was more like play than 
work for them, and the very novelty of it was 
refreshing and broke the monotony of trench life, 
more especially being out of range of the deadly 
guns. 

The Pats were proud of being among the pioneers 
of the Allied armies in France, and no Canadian nor 
Englich regiment was more anxious to be the first 



TRENCH LIFE 159 

to try everything that was going. " Try every- 
thing once; " that was the feeling. 

Thus far the boys had certainly succeeded in their 
desire and wish, and were to the forefront. They 
had been first in fighting, first in hardships, and last 
to shirk. In fact, they had no mind to shirk at all. 
They might kick and fume and fuss over trifles; 
that was the privilege of a British subject! It was 
their right to exercise it upon any needed occasion, 
and they did. Had not their forefathers fought 
and died to insure to posterity the full and free 
discussion of all affairs? 

That was the difference between the men of such 
nations as the British Empire and America, and 
those of Germany. The latter were docile, fawn- 
ing fellows, with the spirit of individuality crushed 
in their breasts; led about by their noses by officers 
they had been taught to revere as supermen, or even 
gods. 

No Canadian, nor Englishman, nor American sees 
his officers through any such rose-colored glasses. 
Not one of them could summon the blind idolatry 
that is lavished upon the fat and overrated Von 
Hindenburg, even though each of the three nations 
possesses minds in military command that are keener 
than his. 

So the Canadians, in these early days of the war 
— like the British, and as the men from the United 
States were to do later — viewed things as they were. 
They respected the sterling qualities of their officers, 
and gave credit for them; and they saw as clearly 
their mistakes, and exercised their God-given privi- 



i6o MOPPING UP! 

lege of criticism. They might so fume — and " let 
off steam " — but when the big tests faced them, they 
battered Into the most sullen obstacles without 
thought of quailing, without word of complaint, with 
the white feather and the " streak of yellow " un- 
known. 




CHAPTER XVI 

"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 

ARDSHIPS were now beginning to tell 
heavily upon the battalion. The grim 
vicissitudes of war were taking their toll. 

Many men were falling ill, through various 
causes. The platoon to which my soldiers three 
belonged, which a few days before had a strength 
of sixty-four men, had only twenty-three upon an 
early day in February, 19 15, able to answer roll call. 
This was the case with the whole battalion. At that 
time the largest platoon had thirty-two men, where 
it should have had forty-eight or more. 

My Patricias were among the most " durable " 
men on the Western Front — as they are yet. Con- 
sider, then, what must have been the state of affairs 
throughout the whole Allied army in that bleak 
winter! 

Friday, the 12th Inst, the boys again left for 
Dickebusch and took their places in the trenches. 
It was at six o'clock in the evening when they fell 
in for that march. They proceeded at a fast pace 
for about two miles, and were then loaded down 
with bags and shovels. 

These were the best trenches they had yet occu- 
pied, and were further away from the German 
lines. They ran through a hollow, and the boys 

i6i 



1 62 MOPPING UP! 

could get into and out of them quite easily. How- 
ever, there was always something to keep the other- 
wise joy out of life, as one of the boys observed 
with forlorn humor. For the day and night were 
bitter cold, and they shivered and were wholly 
unable to keep themselves warm. 

Came Saturday, the 13th. This time it brought 
ill luck, though a phase of it to which the boys 
were well accustomed. For it rained nearly all day. 

Again the boys were doing fatigue duty and dig- 
ging trenches. This work helped to keep them 
warm, and they were glad of the change, and got 
fresh water and tea. Ensued a dreary night of 
waiting and watching for the enemy — ^but morning 
found them all still well and cheerful. 

At ten o'clock that night they were relieved. 
Trouble, which it appeared had been quiescent too 
long, attended the process. They were shelled 
while leaving the trenches, and lost two men. 

Somehow the Huns must have learned the men 
were being relieved, and have known the road they 
were taking out of the trench, for the fire was deadly 
accurate. Finally, after much stopping and rest- 
ing, they arrived at Dickebusch and remained there 
all night, leaving at 9 : 30 next morning for their old 
billets in the same barn. It had grown to feel 
almost like home for them, and was a welcome place 
to rest their weary bones, to wash up and to scrape 
off the uniforms once more. 

But those uniforms had grown to be sad-looking 
objects to swank in ! 

After another night's rest and a brush-up, they 



"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 163 

fell in at i : 45 P.M. to proceed to another official 
bath. It was as welcome as had been the previous 
laving-bees. They obtained a complete change of 
clothing and marched back to billets feeling cleaned 
and freshened. 

So the days passed, monotonously enough. But 
there was an excellent little wad of excitement on 
the way, the boys were to find. 

It was on Sunday, February 28, that my Pats 
were ordered to pack up and " stand to." The boys 
were restless; there was an intangible essence in the 
air which promised action. I felt it too, in my place 
far back of the front line trenches, and through it 
was warned to visualize what was to come. 

My " Pat's Pets," grimy and bedraggled " Pets," 
now, marched for about six miles to a place about 
a mile from Dickebusch, amid laughter, song and 
gaiety, the same as they had acted upon their arrival 
in Havre, France, as this night promised the long 
anticipated crack at the enemy. There they camped 
for the night. 

There were rumors of a bayonet charge. My 
boys were much excited at the prospect. Fred 
summed up the general feeling. 

" Ah, for the chance to tickle their cursed ribs 
with the cold steel! " he exclaimed vengefully. " I 
hear they don't like that, a little bit ! They'd rather 
snipe from under cover, and shoot up a burial party, 
and pull off a few little hero stunts like that! Let's 
see how much good Fritz is, standing up against a 
corn-fed Canuck in a little sticker duel! " 

At five in the afternoon they v/ere ordered to fall 



1 64 MOPPING UP! 

in and march to St. Elol. They were reinforced by 
about 500 men from the nth and 12th Battalions 
of the Canadian Contingent. As they were put in 
a separate company, they firmly believed that the 
rumors of a bayonet charge were correct, and hopes 
ran high. 

At about midnight they were lined up at Schelly's 
farm ready for the attack. But before this, all had 
been doing fatigue duty and standing to most of 
the night. 

Most of the boys were by then exhausted, and as 
angry as they were tired. For hours they had 
struggled through mud knee-deep, carrying heavy 
bags and doing other pleasant little duties that had 
taken most of their muscle and wind. 

It was because of this that they were angry. The 
ambition of fighting men had been stirred — and all 
the energy had been consumed in the strenuous mus- 
cular efforts of the laborer ! They had been ready 
to make the supreme effort of their lives against 
the Germans, in the first bayonet attack upon their 
lines, and now they felt more like crumpling down 
In the mud for a sorely needed rest. 

They were marched to the road, then were 
ordered to halt. Part of them were separated from 
the others, and then only the best and strongest of 
the boys were selected to attack. 

It fell upon No. 4 Company and the snipers to 
furnish these attackers. The 13th and 14th pla- 
toons were the attacking platoons. Part of the 
15th and 1 6th platoons were designated to comprise 
a shovel party, which meant that they were to level 



" MERCI, KAMERAD ! " 165 

the German parapet and destroy the trench as much 
as possible. 

They were marched along Schelly's farm and 
given the final words of instruction. Just before 
daybreak they quietly started for the German 
trenches. 

Those who participated in that little episode, 
who have survived the rigors of the world's war, 
will never forget that memorable moment. The 
silvery moonlight made the night like day. In its 
wan sheen glittered some hundred bayonets, though, 
because the position of the moon was behind the 
column, this sinister glitter could have been scarcely 
detected by the Germans in front. 

The men marched slowly to the spot where it 
had been arranged that the attack should start. 
Occurred a moment's pause, while nerves were 
cruelly strained as men waited, with tensing muscles, 
for the magic word, "Over!" that would usher 
in a new chapter of war's experience, thrilling, fas- 
cinating, full of dash; the first trench raid. 
The order came. 

The distance across No Man's Land at this spot 
was only about fifty yards. 

With a concerted lithe bound forward, the first 
Canadian bayonet charge of the world's war was on. 
It was accompanied by a yell, in unison, that sat- 
isfactorily carried to the Kaiser's minions in that 
trench the spirit of the Canadians who had come 
to take it. 

In my dreams — the true dreams that unrolled 
for me as from a scroll the happenings of the front 



1 66 MOPPING UP! 

— I heard that yell that night, even as I saw the 
forms of my friends, head down and bayonets fixed, 
charging like mad moose across No Man's Land in 
the moonlight. It was a sound to set the spines 
of the enemy tingling, as it did in that first moment 
of surprise. 

Like the roar of an angry lion challenging for 
a duel to the death; like the throaty yelps of a 
pack of wolves bounding toward their quarry, 
were the outcries of my Pats as they surged for- 
ward. 

Gleamed and flashed the bayonets in the moon- 
light as the men who had been selected first to bap- 
tize Canada's steel with blood ran across No Man's 
Land. A man fell here; another there; as the 
defending fire leaped almost instantaneously from 
the German trench; for the men within it were far 
from being taken by helpless surprise. 

The Pats saw their pals fall, but there was no 
stop. They only dashed the faster across the inter- 
vening space to the opposing parapet. 

To the cries of challenge was now added a deeper 
note; growls of revenge for the comrades toppling 
in the ranks during that wild run. 

They were close to the trench now. The defend- 
ing machine guns were tittering; showers of bullets 
were falling among them, claiming their toll. Not 
a shot was fired in return. The Canadians were 
depending upon the cold steel; the steel that Joe, 
who was half-Indian and half-engineer, had said 
that Fritz would dread, and come out distinctly sec- 
ond best against his Canuck foe. 



"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 167 

The next few minutes were to prove that Joe's 
foresight was true ! 

Amid a shower of German bullets, from machine 
guns and rifles, the Canadians gained their parapet 
and leaped down into their trench, which was not 
guarded by barbed wire, being the head of a sap — 
and the bayonets all fixed for business ! 

There was an exchange of shots from small arms 
at short range, but as the enemy actually closed, it 
was the bayonet that Jack Canuck depended on as 
against any other weapon. 

And with the flash of the moonlight streaming 
into the trench and illumining the deadly blue-white, 
clashing, thrusting steel, came the craven whine, the 
Hun squeal of fear that Allied raiding parties have 
come to know so well; the hypocritical yelp of 
baby-bombers, murderers of women. Red Cross 
destroyers, when faced with the steel-points of 
justice : 

" Kamerad! Merci, Kamerad! " 

Was mercy shown the merciless? 

Well, some prisoners were taken back to my boys' 
lines. 

Which brings me to an exciting incident of that 
trench raid; one in which my Pendragon was con- 
cerned, and which I will now relate to you. 

Remember, I was far back of the front Hnes that 
night; far behind the crack of rifle fire and the clash 
of steel. From where I was you could hear only 
the big guns booming in muffled thunder through the 
hours of the dark. 

But in my divining dreams, I saw the scene in 



1 68 MOPPING UP! 

which my Pendragon figured; saw it as clearly as if 
I had been there with him. 

I suppose it was because the incident harked back 
to primal days that, at the first of my dream, it 
seemed to me that I was with him. 

It seemed to me that v/e were in a setting un- 
numbered ages before that of the present; away 
back in the era of the primordial. We were in a 
bleak plain, facing a towering forest of strange and 
monstrous twisted shapes, which looked as if it 
might be an abode of horrors. 

Forth from this forest was coming a strange 
beast, with fearsome growls. I cannot describe the 
appearance of this monster; it was too terrible. 

Dashing toward this weird brute was my Pen- 
dragon, with a snarling shout of challenge. He 
was m.y Pendragon, though strangely different. He 
was bearded; his hair waved in the wind; he was 
only partly dressed in the skins of wild animals he 
had killed. Above his head he was waving a great 
bludgeon; he was to do battle with the monster that 
was approaching. 

It seemed to me that I was bounding beside him; 
Pendragon who was my idol then as he is now. But 
then, even as he was different I was different; for I 
was not then a collie dog. I was a wolf; Pen- 
dragon's first brute slave that he had tamed and 
taught to do his bidding. 

With snarling cry I was bounding with Pendragon 
toward this beast that we were to attack together. 

Just as we were about to close with it, this 
aboriginal dream faded into another; the second 



"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 169 

dealing with present truth as I have no doubt did 
also the first with past truth. 

After my Pats had captured the trench and the 
last of its defenders who were still able to run had 
apparently retired, my eyes seemed to follow Pen- 
dragon. He was the only man of the Princess 
Patricias who habitually carried an ax. It was an 
Indian-like lifelong habit formed from years of 
battling with the Canadian wilds. 

The ax was an ordinary engineer's tool and he 
always had it along in place of an entrenching tool. 
And it was to be demonstrated at once that it was 
rather a handy thing to have in a pinch. 

With the dispersing of the Hun defenders Pendy 
had laid his rifle to one side at the head of the sap. 
The trench was reinforced with large heavy timbers 
and supported by " lagging," which is a miner's term 
for lining. It was certain that the trench had been 
built by experienced miners. But what miners had 
built miners could destroy. There were good 
miners with the Pats. 

The Pats were busily engaged changing the in- 
terior arrangements of the trench, cutting down the 
woodwork. I could see their form% clearly outlined 
in the sheen of wan moonlight which crept into the 
ditch. 

Suddenly my heart seemed to stand still with 
fright. All the Germans had not been evicted from 
that trench! 

At least, there was one left. I saw the crouching, 
gray-clad figure creeping stealthily from a side sap; 
I saw his face, convulsed with hate; I saw his eyes, 



170 MOPPING UP I 

gleaming cruelly in the moonlight. I longed to 
spring at his throat, and sobbed in my sleep that I 
could not, for I was miles away ! 

Now, secure as he thought in the shadows, the 
Hun was raising his rifle. But the eyes of my 
comrade, Jackson, were alert. He was working 
across from Pendy, though further up the trench. 
He chanced to turn and see the crouching figure, 
just aiming with the rifle. 

It was too far for Jackson to reach. But my 
Pendy was almost within arm's length of the Prus- 
sian, though with his back to him. He was still 
smashing away at the timbers. 

" Jack! " yelled Jackson. " Behind you! " 

Like a flash Pendragon whirled, instinctively 
swinging the ax back over his shoulder. I saw the 
whites of his eyes in the moonlight as he glimpsed 
that crouching figure. The Hun was just about to 
pull the trigger. But he never pulled it. 

Pendy swung the ax home. He was just within 
reaching distance. The sharp corner of the blade 
caught the Hun in the neck. He fell like a chopped 
tree. 

Jackson walked up and looked down at him. " I 
guess he's finished," he said grimly. " Say, Jack, 
let's swing him on top of the parapet." 

He was still wriggling as they grabbed him and 
heaved him up there. He made a fair target. He 
didn't wriggle long. The parapet was raked with 
machine gun fire from German emplacements farther 
back, in revenge for our successful raid. So the 
Prussian, who had thought to slay and sneak away, 



"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 171 

was finally finished by the fire from his own com- 
rades. 

That incident required about a minute, all told. 
The whole attack was over in thirty. 

A shot here; a shout there; but mostly quiet work 
with the steel and the sight of figures in field gray 
scrambling madly to avoid it. They clambered out 
of the trench, yelling with fright, scurrying like 
rabbits. Their vaunted " stonewall " defense had 
been knocked to pieces at sight. The ripping con- 
tact with bayonets had taken care of that. It is a 
man's weapon which they abhor as the civilized 
world abhors their sneaking, treacherous, cowardly 
fashion of digging in trenches, into clouds, under- 
seas, to fight, and their battering and sinking of in- 
offensive neutrals to gain their own ends. 

What were left of the Germans rushed back to 
their second line. The trench was in the possession 
of my Pats. 

However, the victorious " Pets " were inside it 
only long enough to discover how much deeper, 
better drained and altogether more comfortable it 
was than those first trenches of the Allies. Doubt- 
less, with their passion for system, the Germans had 
been secretly practicing at digging trenches for 
many years before they elected to start the world's 
war. 

Of course, the Pats knew they wouldn't be in the 
trench long. Orders are orders; and unfortunately, 
too, as the casualties the next morning were perhaps 
more than if the trench had been consolidated and 
held. But the British army was learning, and if 



172 MOPPING UP! 

the price of tuition ran high, perhaps it was worth it. 

Not more than thirty minutes were spent by my 
Pats in the trench they had taken, but they made 
those minutes busy ones. I have spoken before of 
the will with which Canucks attack their tasks; 
whether of construction or destruction. 

When the word arrived to leave it, that trench 
was a sight for gods and men. Dugouts and breast- 
works were destroyed and the trench was shoveled 
half full of its original dirt. The timbers lay in 
twisted heaps. It would be easier for the Huns to 
dig a new trench than to bother with the old one! 

The Pats left well satisfied. Their casualties 
were very light considering what they had accom- 
plished. 

They arrived at dugouts a half-mile further back 
at daybreak. There they remained all day. 

They heard the Germans were so angry at the 
raid and the resultant losses, that during the day 
they opened a terrific enfilade of fire on No. 3 Com- 
pany. They used all kinds of shells, hand grenades 
and trench mortars, trying to revenge their own 
losses. 

As they had no artillery with which to reply, the 
men of gallant No. 3 had to lie flat and take every- 
thing that was coming. There was no immediate 
retaliation possible, and their casualties were cor- 
respondingly heavy. 

Nothing of importance occurred during the next 
few days. My Pats did fatigue duty, and after it 
returned to a barn behind the line. A rest of two 
days there, and a return to the trenches at Schelly's 



"MERCI, KAMERAD!" 173 

farm, completed their turn in the trenches for that 
trip. 

That was the longest turn they had in the trenches 
for some time, and it was the most disastrous. 
Their casualties were very heavy. 

They started for the rest camp at Westoutre on 
March 11. 



CHAPTER XVII 
NORTHERN LIGHTS 

CAME a dark night, not long after the first 
trench raid, of which I have told. In my 
sheltered place back of the battle lines I 
shivered and moaned in slumber. For in my 
dreams came phantoms to whisper and to warn me, 
and presently there stole through my brain the 
blackest shadow it had ever known. 

How free from sorrow had been my life in the 
years before we had come to seek this Thing, and 
found it in blood and tears! 

I knew the mockery of dreams first, on this dismal 
and memorable night, with a glad vision of the past. 
Rex, the collie that had been left behind in the 
Northland when we crossed the seas, seemed again 
to be bounding with me along the shore of Night- 
hawk Lake on a rare summer day. Pendy was 
building the fire while Fred, whose clothes were 
piled on the bank, swam in the lake. 

Then, following the unaccountable depression 
that suddenly crept over me, came the drumming of 
footsteps, running to us from the forest. Rob, my 
comrade, the dreamer, the poet, who had so often 
stood with me upon the hilltops while we watched 
the outspread grandeur of God, burst from the path 
into the clearing, shouting wildly as he came : 

174 



NORTHERN LIGHTS 175 

"War! War!" 

Next I saw three men clasping hands on the 
shore. I heard three voices sounding in one, the 
voice of Canada : 

"We're on!" 

My " Soldiers Three " 1 

Then my vision flashed to the present; a scene of 
this sodden night in Flanders on the Western Front. 

Two shadowy figures stole like ghosts from the 
shelter of the Patricias' trench out into No Man's 
Land, at the other side of which stretched the Ger- 
mans' barbed wire with the trench beyond it. 
Despite the darkness, all was plain to the eye of my 
spirit as I muttered in my sleep. 

It was one of those errands — foolhardy if you 
will, but necessitated by the grim game of war — 
that now led this pair onward to the listening post. 

I recognized them as they crept forward stealth- 
ily. Rob was slightly in advance. Immediately be- 
hind him was Jim. 

Rob was whispering back over his shoulder, soft 
as a breeze, as they went cautiously on through 
the inky blackness. 

" I wish I was back in good old Canada now! " 

" There's a lot of snow up there these days," 
answered Jim, as softly. 

"Oh, I love the snow! Any place, any spot; 
from the Hudson Bay to the Great Lakes; from 
Prince Rupert to the Straits of Canso, would do me 
to-night. I'm sick of mud ! " 

A star shell from the German trench lighted the 
dark sky above them. They huddled in a shell hole 



176 MOPPING UP! 

to escape observation. Bullets from friend and foe, 
constantly exchanged through the night, fell close to 
them and sent mud spitting in their faces. 

Presently there came a lull. The hstening post 
was only a few yards from the enemy wires. 

" It looks like some of those Canadian devils were 
In front of us again," was heard from the German 
trench in low grumbling tones. 

Immediately there was afforded the daring Cana- 
dians an opportunity they never missed. The flare 
of a star shell, from a point that made it impossible 
for the Germans to see them, crouched in the shell 
crater, revealed to them a dim form upreared above 
the Teuton trench, striving with sharp eyes to pierce 
the gloom and ascertain if there were really in- 
truders present close to the barbed wire. 

"Can you see him, Rob?" excitedly whispered 
Jim, very low. 

" Yes. I can just get ' six o'clock ' on his knob 
on the sky line," replied Rob, meaning that he had 
drawn a deadly bead on the Hun's head. " Duck 
when I pull!" 

In that very instant he fired. 

They dropped into the deep sheltering crater, and 
hugged the earth. 

" You got him ! " whispered Jim. " I saw him 
tumble in. Good old boy! And it's not the first 
one for you, either! " 

"I know I got him! " whispered Rob grimly In 
reply. They lay quietly for some moments, for star 
shells were falling thickly. The Huns' suspicions 



NORTHERN LIGHTS 177 

were aroused, and with these blue-white flares, like 
the livid lights which the poet Dante conjured in the 
hell of which he wrote, they were searching No 
Man's Land. 

Then: 

Bang! 

There came a terrific explosion. One of the 
Germans — through mere chance — had thrown a 
bomb directly into the crater wherein the two men 
were hiding. 

In Jim's horrified sight, poor Rob rolled to the 
bottom of the crater. 

" Rob ! " whispered Jim shrilly, " are you hurt? '* 
There was no answer. 

Swiftly Jim was at his side; he bent over him. 
Blood was trickling from his head and a red stream 
gushed from his neck with every throb of the pulses. 

Setting his teeth, in defiance of the swarming 
death which menaced the action, Jim leaped up- 
right and rushed out of the crater into the open, 
setting his face toward the Canadian line, for which 
he forged in a desperate dash. He had but one 
thought; he could not carry Rob alone; he must get 
help; there might be a chance if action were taken 
quickly. 

Star stells were now shooting up by the hundreds 
around him. The entire German trench was In 
commotion, evidently fearing that a raid impended. 

Shots rattled around Jim, for he was plainly 
visible to the Teutons. On he went in his head- 
long rush, and not a bullet struck him. Leaping a 
ditch here; jumping a crater ihere, he pressed on till 



178 MOPPING UP! 

a magical word stopped him, a word of one of his 
own vigilant comrades: 

"Halt! Who goes there?" 

" Friend ! " gasped Jim. " It's Jim ! " 

"What's the matter?" asked the sentry, recog- 
nizing him now and lowering his rifle. 

" Tell the sergeant Rob is hurt bad, in the crater 
to the left of the listening post. We must get him 
in!" 

Immediately it was done. " Pass the word back 
for five men to get in a wounded man from crater 
to left of listening post!" ordered the sergeant. 
" Here, Jack! " he cried; " you go, and you, Fred! " 
And with Jim, who turned back with them to guide 
them, he called two other men. He told them to 
get Rob in as quickly as possible, but they needed 
no urging. 

The party started, stumbling into shell holes and 
tripping over uneven ground till they came to the 
spot. The German line was now in a furore, and 
they had to stop and hide many times to avoid the 
Huns' alert sentries. But, partially due to their 
own caution but more due to a Higher Power, they 
arrived at the crater without accident, and without 
the enemy apparently being aware that they were 
there. 

There was now no sign of life in the limp form 
of their comrade as they picked him up tenderly. 
They dragged rather than carried him to their own 
trenches, for the star shells were still searching No 
Man's Land, and the need for haste was imperative. 

Within the Patricias' trench they laid him down. 



NORTHERN LIGHTS 179 

His clothing was soal^ed with blood and water. His 
face was gory, and his neck; and where the skin 
was not red it was blue-white and cold. 

" Pass the word back for the rum! " ordered the 
sergeant. His voice was shaking. All the regi- 
ment had loved Rob. 

The rum came quickly. They poured it in the 
mouth of the dying man. But he was unable to 
swallow it. 

They feared that he was dead. They searched 
for signs of life. Yes; he was still breathing faintly. 

Came a ghostly groan. The fiery liquid in his 
mouth had revived him somewhat. He opened 
filming eyes; to stare blankly out over the wide 
waters that were darker and deeper than those of 
Nighthawk Lake. 

Then, broken and faint, came the mumblings of 
words, breathed in a thrall of delirium that merci- 
fully softened the agony of his passing. The words 
of a poet and a patriot; the words of a brooding 
spirit that had loved its land, and for that land had 
yielded up the supreme sacrifice : 

" Canada . . . Canada . . . Canada! my heart 
. . . my love . . . Canada! " 

Those who stood about him, with bared heads, 
were deathly still. From the detonating steel of 
friend and foe, there in the black night, came the 
orchestration of the soldier's requiem; the rattle 
of rifle fire; the bursting of bombs; the diapason of 
the great guns bellowing in the rear. 

Came his voice again; strangely strengthened; 
rinq;ing with an exultant note : 



i8o MOPPING UP! 

" Oh, God . . . Great Spirit of Truth . . . 
my soul . . . give it back, to Canada ... let it 
rest there ... in peace, in purity . . . under 
the snow ! " 

His soul . . . under the snow! An emanation 
of the Divine, of the courageous, of the unconquer- 
able; an essence to forever inspire the generations 
yet unborn; the generations of the lion heart, of 
victors, of men; the essence of deathless will that 
comes to quickened dust from its parent soil — under 
the snow ! 

The little group stood and watched; among them 
my Pendragon and Fred, those two who had struck 
hands with him that day in the forest, this stricken 
poet of the " Soldiers Three " ! 

Again came his voice; dulled, drowsy, a little be- 
wildered: 

"Where's my hat, Eva? . . . What's that- 
coming down the road? " 

After a moment, once more he spoke, now in a 
whisper, so faint that they had to bend their heads 
to catch the words: 

"The lights! . . . The lights! . . . Green, 
yellow and red . . . dancing across the sky. . . . 
Oh! the — the — Northern Lights!" 

His voice ceased; his head fell back; he twitched 
once, then lay still. His comrades stood motion- 
less, saying no word. 

His spirit had fled in quest of the Northern 
Lights; to the silence and peace and purity of the 
snows. 



CHAPTER XVIII 
SHELL SONGS AND LAUNDRY 

FOR a few moments, as if it were to fill in a 
lull between battles with a talk " around the 
circle " in billets, I am going to pass on to my 
friends of the laity, who have not experienced the 
actual shocks of war, various information of the 
field that I gathered while abroad. These bits 
cover a variety of matters, from shell songs to a 
spy's laundry code. 

One often hears the friends at home speculating 
upon such questions as the noises made by different 
projectiles, and whether you can actually see them 
as they are hurtling through the air. It is a subject 
which intrigues the popular imagination. 

You can hear them sing in many keys, and you 
can see them, too, from various angles. The latter 
experience is the more horrifying, and soldiers have 
actually been known to have been killed through 
fright at seeing these monsters swoop toward them, 
with the resultant deafening explosion. That is 
" shell shock " in its most acute form. Men have 
been killed, too, merely by the crash when they have 
not seen the object. 

Remember that " shell shock," from which so 
many soldiers have suffered since the war began — 
some of them never to recover — is purely a mental 

i8i - 



i82 MOPPING UP! 

disorder. The nervous shock transmits itself to the 
brain, and the terrible results follow. The effect 
ranges from a mental dislocation to a complete snuf- 
fing out of intelligence, or even of life. 

I will give an instance of the most disastrous effect 
of shell shock. 

During a sharp exchange of courtesies between 
the rival trenches, the boches landed a " whiz-bang " 
and a " coal-box " simultaneously upon the parapet 
of the front line trench, held by the Pats. My Fred 
was right back of them and in between, and on either 
side of him was a comrade. The two projectiles 
landed a few feet apart and terrific explosions 
occurred with but a few seconds between the 
two. 

The noise almost ruptured Fred's eardrums, and 
always after that the hearing of one ear was im- 
paired. He was, however, unhurt. Recoiling at 
the detonations, he glanced down. His two com- 
rades were stretched out in the trench, under his 
feet. 

Thinking the shattered metal had felled them, he 
called for aid. Men came running and found the 
pair dead. There was no visible wound. They 
were stripped. To the amazement of all beholders 
there was not a wound, not a single abrasion, on 
either of them ! 

The finding was unmistakable that their hearts 
had fairly stopped with shock as the explosions 
crashed above them. 

By the way, my Pats christened a number of those 
early munitions of war, and those of them which 



SHELL SONGS AND LAUNDRY 183 

are still in use in the ever-changing crucible of affairs 
are still known by the picturesque nicknames given 
them by the Canadians. 

The whiz-bang and the coal-box were thus so 
named by the Patricias. The coal-box was so diag- 
nosed and monikered by the Pats at St. Eloi. Also, 
the whiz-bang was thus identified for future refer- 
ence at Pollegon Wood, during which argument, in- 
stead of an occasional " stray " as before, the Teu- 
tons began " to send 'em over mighty rough, and in 
unrighteous profusion," as one Pat put it. 

The coal-box was a large 8- or lo-inch shell 
containing a black powder which, when it exploded, 
looked like the soot of a ton of coal oozing out of 
the ground which has been so thoroughly cratered 
in this war, and in so many ways. Hence, the 
graphic nickname was a real inspiration. 

One cannot see this shell coming, but he can hear 
it, all right. It has a grumbling, purring, droning 
song like that of a high-powered motor car eating 
up the road, and this sound grows louder just before 
it explodes, for all the world as if a motor car were 
driving straight at you. The boys used to say 
that you could get out of its road if you knew where 
it was going to light, but unfortunately you never 
knew ! 

Its contents are not H.P. (the boys' term for high 
explosive), but it is a shell that has done damage 
enough. The explosion releases a whoof and a 
crack, simultaneously. 

The sound of the explosion which resulted in the 
christening of the whiz-bang is self-explanatory. It 



1 84 MOPPING UP! 

is just that; a prolonged whiz-zzz; then the rim Is 
knocked clean off the cipher with the bang. 

It is a three-inch shell about fourteen inches long; 
either contact or time-explosive. Off on the ground 
or off in the air it goes, and either fashion is fully 
as unpopular. The coal-box, on the contrary, is 
purely a contact affair. In the case of the whiz- 
bang, the riot commences when the cap blows off. 

A 15-inch naval gun shell you can neither see nor 
hear coming, if it chances to fall near you, but if 
you are at a distance of anywhere from two hundred 
yards to a mile away from it you can hear it, all 
right. It, also, possesses the motor drone song. 
This shell contains a ton of high-explosive material, 
all told, and when it lands a lot of land or other 
impedimenta under it immediately changes position. 
The boys used to argue whether this was a 15- 
or a 17-inch shell, and the point was never 
decided. 

I am dealing, of course, with the trouble-makers 
that my boys of the First Contingent found. Of 
course, in the liberal education of the world's war, 
details of offense and defense change every day. 

A highly interesting bit of acrobatic munition 
deviltry, too, was the IVinnenwafer, which the boys 
cut down to the gentle feminine sobriquet of " win- 
nies." These playful little offerings were also 
dubbed '' sausages." 

There was no trouble in seeing them all the time 
they were coming. They were fired straight from 
the trench by some hellish mechanical device, and 
they could be seen coming leisurely from the tim.e 



SHELL SONGS AND LAUNDRY 185 

they left it till they paused to caress whatever ob- 
jects, human or otherwise, they encountered. 

They twisted and turned on the way, and before 
they began to make up their German minds to 
explode, they wiggled in the air like an animated 
sausage. Their motions were very deceptive some- 
times. You would make up your mind they were 
going to pass, and instead of this they would do 
their best to fall short and drop directly on top of 
you. Sometimes, the boys declared, they even came 
back to hunt for you ! 

These sausages were two or three feet long, three 
or four inches thick and exploded a black powder. 
They made far more noise than destruction. In ap- 
proaching they made no sound. They were so slow 
that they were alike easy to see and impossible to 
hear till their ultimate bark. 

My reference to their being more noisy than de- 
structive must be taken with qualifications. They 
were by no means harmless enough to encourage 
anyone to approach and pet them in the instant they 
landed ! 

There were lesser objects, too, which made the 
" swish " that a baseball makes in v/histling through 
the air. Of such description were the hand grenades 
the Germans were making and using that first spring 
on the Ypres salient. These would often explode, 
and as often not. They caused equal consternation 
In either case, for they were deadly little missiles 
when they fulfilled the kindly hopes of their Hun 
makers. 

Some of the big projectiles I have mentioned 



1 86 MOPPING UP! 

would sometimes explode close to a man, and he 
would be preserved from injury seemingly through 
miraculous intervention. Such a case was that of a 
big fellow of the Pats who, comrades averred, was 
blown actually twenty feet by the bursting of one of 
these big shells immediately next him. Severely 
shaken, of course, and thinking he might get a few 
days' leave on the strength of such an experience 
and go away to relieve the monotony of trench life, 
he applied for such leave at headquarters. 

But he hadn't received a wound or even a scratch 
in his mad flight, so he was turned down! 

" But," he persisted sadly, " I was blown twenty 
feet! A lot of the boys saw me go! " 

He was an extra big fellow, hard as nails. The 
officer looked him over thoughtfully. The soldier's 
hope revived. 

At last the officer spoke. " Crandall, report for 
duty to commanding officer in Trench 21 at once! " 

So that was the only satisfaction Crandall got. 
Trench 21 was one of the roughest in the Ypres 
salient ! 

One of the boys who went with the First Con- 
tingent, and returned late in 19 17 because of wounds, 
told some Canadian friends that when he left the 
trenches the Germans had a brand new trench mor- 
tar bomb working that got his goat. 

"They have it trained like a hunting dog," he 
declared. " It's fat and lazy, but persistent. It 
comes bumping and rolling along the ground in the 
craziest way you ever saw, bouncing this way and 
that. Then it hops up on the parapet and looks 



SHELL SONGS AND LAUNDRY 187 

down at you and grins in a fiendish manner. You 
all scatter, of course. It takes its time, picks out 
the biggest bunch, chases it, and flops down among 
them. Then, and then only, it explodes. 

" I tell you the thing absolutely refuses to go off 
all by its lonesome. It insists on finding a crowd 
before it will explode; sort of human photographer 
detonator affair." 

Severely cross-questioned, he admitted that he 
might be exaggerating a little ; but anyhow, " it 
seemed that way." 

Nothing was more " jumpy " in this shell war- 
fare than to watch the course of one of these big 
15-inch shells of which I have spoken. You could 
not see them if you stood at the side, but If they 
passed directly over you, you could glimpse them, 
coming at incredible speed though thrown from guns 
eight miles back of the lines. Their song was a 
peculiar blend of swish and moan. These shells 
were as tall as a man, and they invariably fell point 
first in an arc. After the explosion there would be 
a crater that you could put a house in. 

During those early days the Canadians and Eng- 
lish were much hampered by the work of spies, as 
they are yet. But I scarcely think — though the arts 
of war " improve " so rapidly in a world's struggle 
hke the present — that anything in the spy line of 
to-day can surpass in ingenuity the two instances I 
will content myself with mentioning. 

In both instances — God save the mark! — the cul- 
prits were Belgians. However, these citizens of the 
country whose outraging by Germany, when she tore 



1 88 MOPPING UP! 

up the " scrap of paper " of international treaty, 
roused the civilized world, were among the least 
worthy of King Albert's subjects. They were stupid 
peasants. German gold, appealing to their cupidity, 
won their help for the Kaiser's cause. German sly- 
ness devised the means by which they gave the daily 
information the Almighty's understudy — or is the 
Omnipotent supposed to be understudy to Bill? — 
sought for Hun purposes. 

One of these spies was an old Belgian laundress; 
the other an aged Belgian farmer. 

One day the Canadians, within whose lines was 
the laundry, summarily took the old woman oii duty. 
The evidence was completed, and it had hung daily 
from the clotheslines. 

Shirts, socks, underwear, what-not; these formed 
the basis for a very clever code of information. 

The clotheslines were in full view of the German 
lines. So many pairs of socks; so many shirts; so 
many pairs of drawers; they all meant something. 
Constantly the Hun had been advised in advance, 
for many days, of various Canadian deployments 
and employments. 

After the laundry stopped, so did the leak. 

Now for the other instance. 

For a long time a British battery was kept busy 
moving. No sooner did they find a fine spot, how- 
ever masked and camouflaged, than the Hun bat- 
teries would be dropping shells close to them. 

This went on for some time. But it stopped very 
suddenly, with the arrest of the old Belgian farmer 
referred to. 



SHELL SONGS AND LAUNDRY 189 

The old rascal's fields showed some very eccen- 
tric plowing. He plowed a fresh field almost daily, 
in triangles. And the apex of each new triangle 
pointed directly to the fresh location of the British 
battery ! 

The day the farmer was arrested was one of 
freedom for annoyance for the battery, which had 
been moved once more. And it was never molested 
again from that particular source. 

No more did the old woman toil in her laundry, 
nor the old man in his field. 

^yhat became of this aged and unpatriotic pair? 
Military justice posts no bills. But they do say 
that such spies as these, caught red-handed, are — 
without regard to sex — stood against a wall for the 
attentions of the firing squad. 



CHAPTER XIX 
THE WOUNDS ENDURING 

OF all the cruel truths the war taught me, this 
was the chiefest. That the saddest fate is 
not that of the man who dies gallantly in 
battle. The supreme agony is that of Love that 
is left to live in loneliness, with the wounds en- 
during. 

Think you that the man of the line, who has died, 
bore the heavier burden? It is not so. That was 
laid by Fate on the frail shoulders of the mother, 
the sister, the sweetheart, the wife. 

From the first theirs was a suspense keener than 
any felt in the trenches, for a danger seen and faced 
is half conquered. Death for a soldier means re- 
lease from pain and sorrow, and, as I know so well, 
life and progress in the realms beyond this one. 
And the remainder of this life for the woman he 
loved, and who loved him, means loneliness, tears, a 
bitterness of continued waiting — how long? 

So, again at peace in my Northland and recalling 
those scenes of the red past, I remember Tom Hat- 
trick. And while I feel regret at his passing, my 
deeper grief is for the girl he left behind. For, I 
repeat. Love is the most grievous sufferer in this 
war. 

It was during the Patricias' first bayonet charge 

190 



THE WOUNDS ENDURING 191 

of the war, of which I have told you, that death 
came to Tom Hattrick. 

He was a tall, stalwart, handsome Canadian, a 
Calgary man who had enlisted with the regiment as 
a private. He must have surely earned a commis- 
sion had he lived, I have always believed, for he 
was a young man of splendid attainments and fear- 
less gallantry and resource. 

He fell, torn with machine gun bullets, while 
racing, with fixed bayonet, beside his comrades over 
No Man's Land toward the German trench. It 
will be recalled that the trench was held but a little 
while. As soon as the men retired from it under 
orders they carried Tom back with them, toward 
Schelly's farm and the dugouts. 

He was then unconscious. An examination 
swiftly disclosed that there was no hope. His life 
was swiftly ebbing away. So his comrades gath- 
ered about him till he should breathe his last. 

Finally his eyes opened, but In them was no recog- 
nition of his trench mates. Rather, after the fashion 
of eyes that are about to close for the last time, they 
looked beyond his friends in their muddy uni- 
forms, fresh from their triumph over the Huns, to 
a thrilling scene and into a dear face of the 
past. 

His dry lips opened. They faintly breathed a 
name: " Etta! " 

Those who stood around him did not know Etta. 
But I knew her. And — stirring in my sleep in my 
shelter far back of the lines while I beheld him 
dying, whispering that name — I moaned with the 



192 MOPPING UP! 

memory of it, with the thought that in a few mo- 
ments Etta would be left alone. 

For I had been with them on the night they parted 
in England; as it proved, forever. 

It was at Winchester. I was accompanying them, 
as I was a favorite with both. 

Arm in arm they walked down Morn Hill. Her 
brown eyes were wet; her cheeks flushed; her breath 
came haltingly, broken with sighs, through her inner 
turmoil. For her boy, — as so many others, Cana- 
dian and Americans alike, were to do — had come 
overseas to find his mate. And the next day he was 
to cross to France with his comrade Patricias ! 

Slowly and in silence they walked to the famous 
Winchester Cathedral, built hundreds of years be- 
fore. Instinctively the lovers turned up the lane 
and mounted the few stone steps. They entered the 
first end door that stood ajar. 

Unnoted by either, now, they being completely 
engrossed in each other, I followed them. There 
chanced to be no other person in the cathedral at 
this hour. I lay down in the shadows just within 
the entrance and watched them wistfully, with my 
muzzle between my forepaws. 

They walked on till they came to the old sepulchre 
of one of England's earlier heroes. There they 
stood together, seemingly intent upon the carving on 
the tomb. In fact, they did not see the carving; 
they stood there as had stood innumerable pairs of 
lovers before them, absorbed in each other; in love; 
in life. So passioned life had stood so many times 
in that spot; the aura of chill death and drifted dust 



THE WOUNDS ENDURING 193 

contributing only a subtle melancholy to touch with 
added tenderness the flower of dreaming love and 
life! 

So the dead hero in the tomb before which they 
stood had once loved and dreamed, and sorrowed, 
for love leads its myriad votaries on alike through 
sunlight and through shadows. 

The bond between these two, on this modern 
night in the Winchester Cathedral, was the same as 
that which had bound together so many human 
hearts within the storied walls for centuries gone; 
the hearts which I know continue to love beneath 
the skies of the beyond. 

Here men and women had knelt and worshiped on 
the eve of knights' departure to do battle in a for- 
eign land; just as they do now. Here, through the 
ages, in sanctuary of these walls, had so often been 
required and granted love's sacrifice and love's 
renunciation ! 

Etta spoke at last. Her low, soft, vibrant voice 
was trembling. 

" Tom, how long do you think it will be before 
they give you furlough for England? " 

He answered a little huskily. " I am told that 
ten per cent will be returning in the spring. If so, 
you can depend that I will be with them. I shall 
have a record good enough for that, my girl. God 
knows I have the incentive ; to see you ! " 

They moved away from the tomb and took seats 
together on an old wooden bench, a relic of the 
earliest days in the oldest church in England. Tom's 
arm stole round her waist. 



194 MOPPING UP! 

" Etta," he urged, " why can't we be married to- 
night? Let us go, right now. Why delay?" 

Both his arms were about her now, hungrily he 
looked into her lovely face. Her eyes were down- 
cast. She came closer to him, now hiding her face 
upon his breast. 

His voice had grown hoarse. " I can't leave you 
behind!" he declared. "How can I ever leave 
you?" 

His love overwhelmed his spirit like a storm. 
Impetuously he clasped her closely, showering kisses 
upon her hair, her cheeks, her lips. She made no 
move to resist; she lay passive, in his arms. 

How could they part like this? he protested. If 
she loved him, she would marry him at once, this 
night. Why wouldn't she? 

Then she found voice to remind him of the rules 
governing marriage in her church; of the publishing 
of the banns; of the respect she owed her family, 
who were rigid in their notions of propriety under 
such circumstances. 

"Don't you see, Tom?" she pleaded, her voice 
scarcely louder than a whisper. " There isn't time 
now; and you must leave to-morrow. But I wish — 
Oh, I wish I had said yes when you asked me be- 
fore! How I wish it! " 

" Then say yes now ! " he pleaded eagerly, his 
soul spurred by the coming inevitable parting on the 
morrow. " You love me, don't you? Then prove 
it! Forget the church rules! We can go else- 
where and be married more quickly! Come with 
me, now ! " 



THE WOUNDS ENDURING 195 

"Tom!" she half sobbed, " I— I couldn't! 
There are my people; we must think of them. 
Don't you see? I — I can't! Wait till you come 
back, on your furlough." 

But apparently he was not listening. He cut in, 
a little bitterly, because of his disappointment. 

" Conventions! Dear, don't you see that it is 
people that make conventions; it isn't God! Even 
if we didn't abide by them at all, it would be all 
right, in His sight ! Etta ! " 

He was again clasping her, almost roughly; fairly 
smothering her with his caresses. She was shaken 
as if in a storm; there was a low moan deep in her 
throat; the tears were streaming down her cheeks. 
At last agitated speech was wrung from her; words 
uttered so low that he could hardly hear them. 

" Tom ! dear Tom ; be kind to me ; help me! " 

The effect was magical. His native chivalry had 
been stirred to its depths. 

"Kind to you? Yes, little girl; I'll always be 
kind. Be brave ! And I'll be brave, too. I do 
want to be good to you ! " 

The pressure of his embrace had relaxed; now 
she rested, breathing unevenly, in the hollow of his 
arm. 

Suddenly she burst into a hysterical fit of weep- 
ing. He held her closely, smoothing her hair, com- 
forting her, calm now for her sustaining, mindful 
that the tempest of his own emotions had loosed 
hers. 

" There, there, Etta ! Poor little girl ! Don't 
cry so; or cry all you like; it will ease you." 



196 MOPPING UP! 

For a time she cried the more freely, finding in. 
the feminine measure of rehef a certain relaxation. 
Finally she lay spent, with an occasional low sob 
and with broken sighs, in his embrace. 

Now he stood up, assisting her to her feet while 
he contrived a bleak smile. 

" Well, Etta, I must take you home now. How 
dark it has grown ! I hadn't noticed that. 

" So it's all right, little girl," he was telling her 
with forced cheerfulness. " We must both be brave. 
And ril be back on furlough in the spring and we 
will be married then, won't we ? " 

" Y-yes," she quavered, clinging the more tightly 
to his arm. She bit her lips to keep from crying 
afresh. For black thoughts were flitting through 
her brain; thoughts as black as ravens. Stubbornly 
she fought to drive them away, but they per- 
sisted. 

Why had she denied him? Why not, for the sake 
of her love, have defied all convention? What if — 
what if he — never came back? 

She almost screamed aloud in terror as that 
thought came. But his voice, still with its note of 
forced cheerfulness, was sounding again. 

" Well, Etta, here we are at the door. Bobbie 
Burns, where are you? Oh, here he is. I thought 
probably the old boy had followed us in. Stick 
close, Bobbie, and we'll seek the outer air to- 
gether." 

So we groped our way cautiously through the 
narrow passage at the rear end of the cathedral. 
Not a light could be seen anywhere; the dismal 



THE WOUNDS ENDURING 197 

darkness of war overhung the city. Several times 
Etta collided with the stone fencing before we 
reached the sharp turn leading into High Street. 

At last we reached that thoroughfare, and here 
we had to exercise great caution in getting across 
unseen. 

The street contained many pickets who were gath- 
ering in the soldiers on the eve of departure. The 
military police and " red caps " were especially 
numerous on this night. They were combing the 
city from all angles. They were not in the mood 
to receive explanations, and to be caught after hours 
meant trouble at headquarters. 

Etta knew this, and in her concern for Tom, and 
the accompanying excitement of their crossing the 
street unseen, the pain of their coming parting was 
in some degree alleviated. 

The justice of the situation, from the standpoint 
of military discipline, could not be questioned. On 
the morrow was not the great 27th Divi- 
sion, England's finest Indian army, to which was 
attached the P.P.C.L.I., leaving for the front? 
Embraced within this division, the picked manhood 
of the Anglo-Saxon race from every part of the 
Empire — and with many men, too, from the United 
States and most of the other nations — would be 
marching to Southampton to board the boat for 
France. 

The orders were sudden. So many a heart 
throbbed heavily that night in and around the town 
of Winchester; many a happy plan was upset; and, 
could they have looked into the future, the morron\ 



198 MOPPING UP! 

parting would for many a soldier be the last, and 
for many a loved one would 

" Life be never the same again," 

So, when they had safely crossed the street, and 
I stood waiting for Tom, one of the finest of the 
Canadian frontiersmen destined to cross the Chan- 
nel, he and Etta stood in the shadow of a cross- 
street down which she would presently hurry to 
reach home. And pride shone in her eyes, too, 
pride through tears, as she looked up at him. 

" My boy! " she whispered, " you will come home 
to me on furlough in the spring? " 

" Yes, dear, and we will be married then." 

" I wish— Oh, I wish " 

" I know, darling. But the time will pass swiftly. 
You'll be surprised to see how quick the spring will 
come. I won't say good-bye. Just — till we meet 
again. And remember, I love you!" 

Swiftly, after a lingering embrace, he hurried 
away, warily eluding the pickets, with me after him. 
The camp was situated in the outskirts of the town. 
We crept in through the back way, and avoided the 
sentry. 

Meanwhile, Etta hurried home. In her heart 
was the sunlight of hope — and the shadow of 
dread. 

Months had passed since then. Spring was ap- 
proaching; the spring that was to have witnessed 
the bond that should follow their tryst, Tom's and 
Etta's. 

Tom had received his furlough. But he was 



THE WOUNDS ENDURING 199 

going to a strange country — to wait for the girl he 
loved. 

He lay on the ground, bleeding, in the pallid light 
of dawn. His comrades were gathered about him. 
His face was grayer than the dawn. 

His stiffening lips moved once more, to frame a 
single word, breathed ghostly faint: 

"Etta!" 

They he lay very still. 

He had laid his burden down. The woman was 
left to carry hers alone — how long? 



CHAPTER XX 
ST. ELOrS MOUND 

MY Pats started for their rest camp at West- 
outre on March ii. The barn which 
served as their rest camp was as uninviting 
as all Belgian barns. It helped to enclose a square 
of which the other boundaries were the dwelling 
house, the horse and cow stables and the outbuild- 
ings. 

Within this square was a sort of deep vat-shaped 
excavation where drained the refuse of surrounding 
buildings. This excavation seemed a Belgian habit, 
and, on all the farms, was filled with vlle-odored 
refuse. So the surrounding atmosphere was stifling 
and unsanitary, making the barn a wholly unhy- 
gienic billet. 

On March 13 came the order that the Pats should 
sleep in their boots, clothing and equipment. This 
meant that there would be little rest for them after 
they rose. The expected strenuousness was more 
than reahzed, and sooner than looked for. 

It was at 6 P.M. that they got orders to be on 
the road in five minutes in full marching order. The 
whole battalion was returned to Dickebusch, where 
the boys assisted in recapturing trenches that had 
been lost by their own divisional troops. The as- 
sistance rendered proved not so much in a san« 



ST. ELOrS MOUND 2or 

guinary sense, but it was given with a royal will and 
a hearty wish to accomplish whatever was desired. 
After remaining up all night and wallowing in 
mud, the Pats were not in the best of shape for 
attacking a well-organized enemy, equipped with 
every death-dealing artifice that the brutal Hun 
imagination could devise. 

But the Pats were perfectly willing to give it a 
try. Indeed, they were anxious to come to grips 
with Fritz. They wished to exhibit their fighting 
mettle. Their spirit was that of the man who has 
trained constantly and earnestly for many months 
for an ordeal of strength and skill and gameness. 
Always, with tingling pulses, he is looking forward 
to the day of the great test. So were the Pats this 
night, eager for the fray. They would show Heinie 
what real Canucks could do with the steel ! 

They had, of course, no chance to sleep at all, for 
they moved quicker than had been expected when 
the order was given to sleep in boots and equipment. 
The circumstance that called for this night assign- 
ment was this : 

The Germans were hell-bent on taking the high 
ground at St. Eloi, including the famous mound, of 
which I have made mention before. This ground 
had a wide range of visibility for many miles in all 
directions, as the rest of the surrounding country 
was low and flat. 

The Huns took the 82nd (British) Brigade by sur- 
prise during the night of March 12, and succeeded 
in penetrating the front line trenches and over- 
whelming the Royal Canadian Lancers, a British 



202 MOPPING UP! 

battalion. But although the Huns used mass for- 
mations and drove over the gallant Irishmen in the 
front line trenches, they did not succeed in reaching 
the supports, though they fought to secure them 
through that night and the following day, the 13th. 

It was then reported that they were massing other 
troops in the rear and were preparing to make a 
supreme sacrifice to obtain the only high ground held 
by the British on this front. 

In this ambition, however, the Huns were des- 
tined to encounter even more trouble than they 
caused for two years to come, and finally to lose 
out altogether. No more staggering blow to Ger- 
man military arrogance was to be dealt than those 
which, for many months to come, proved more ef- 
fective than those of the " mailed fist," and finally 
proved the gray-clad vandals, instead of supermen, 
foemen who were not so good at delivering the 
wallops as those they faced. 

Although the Germans, during the next two years, 
captured this high ground several times, it was 
always recaptured. Finally the Huns lost it entirely, 
and at the time of this writing they are miles to the 
rear of it. 

The 80th Brigade, which attained fame as 
the " Stonewall Brigade," and to which the Pats 
were attached, was taken from its regular rest 
period and ordered to recapture the ground taken 
by the Germans the night of the 12th. 

Thus it was that the Pats, ordered during the 
13th to " sleep in equipment," had no opportunity 
for sleep. But with a fight in prospect, this worried 



ST. ELOrS MOUND 203 

them not at all ! The six-mile march to the scene of 
battle was accompanied by the latest songs and dit- 
ties and much laughter. 

Two battalions of the K.R.R.'s were billed to 
make the attack, supported by the Pats. The Pats 
occupied the left of the ground, and were to retake 
the trench known as " The Barrier." 

The right half battalion (Nos. i and 2 Com- 
panies) was stationed in front of The Barrier. 
Nos. 3 and 4 Companies were stationed perhaps a 
hundred yards to the rear. If Companies i and 2 
could not capture The Barrier, Nos. 3 and 4 were 
to dash over the ground and try their hand at riding 
roughshod over the Kaiserites, 

Companies i and 2, however, in a concerted dash, 
succeeded in retaking the trench rather easily, finding 
it more thinly defended than had been expected. 
There were a number of German casualties — few 
being sustained by the Pats — and what were left of 
the Teutons stampeded in disorder to the protection 
of their rear lines. 

The fight continued for several days. The Pats 
continued to hold The Barrier and staved off re- 
peated and savage counter-attacks. During this 
time the members of the regiment accounted for 
many Germans, but sustained quite a number of 
casualties themselves. 

The K.R.R.'s, the gallant British detail that was 
set to take the mound, had a far more difficult posi- 
tion to storm, however, and many a brave man fell 
in the execution of his duty. They succeeded in 
recapturing the surrounding trenches, but the mound 



204 MOPPING UP! 

itself, bristling with machine guns, was a different 
proposition. It was too much to expect that a thou- 
sand men, or less, could have taken it, however 
determined their effort. 

Because of the slenderness of British resources 
in that early part of the war, the Canadians and 
English had no artillery preparations and the fight- 
ing was wholly sustained by infantry against German 
infantry and artillery. There were no trench 
mortars nor hand grenades in the position of the 
K.R.R.'s. Just rifles they had, and the " long 
knife," as the bayonet was known. But they did 
plenty of red work with these. How Fritzie did 
hate that " long knife," to be sure ! As the spring 
would disclose, he vastly preferred the poison gas, 
when released by himself, and during which attack 
he might remain safe in the rear of it and chortle 
at the thought of foemen stifling and dying. Except, 
indeed, when the wind changed, and brought to him 
the reprisal of the "biter bitten! " 

The losses on both sides — but particularly the 
British — in the fighting about the mound were very 
heavy, when it is considered that this was purely a 
local operation. If a tank had been there — it was 
before the introduction of that device in the theatre 
of the Western Front, of course — a single one of the 
monsters, it is safe to say, would have climbed the 
mound and dominated and captured it in a jifty. 

During the many months of fighting for its pos- 
session that ensued, the mound was captured, recap- 
tured, blown up, rebuilt, and mauled like a bone in 
the teeth of two maddened and contending dogs 



ST. ELOrS MOUND 205 

several times. The issue was decided in the " big 
push " of 19 16, when the British finally pushed the 
Huns back and retained the battle-scarred eminence 
permanently for themselves. 

The base of this mound was about 150 to 200 feet 
wide. It was about 200 feet long. The slope 
ascended at an angle of about 70 degrees. The 
summit was from 20 to 30 feet high. 

Not much of a hill to have caused so much 
trouble and blood. But it dominated a peculiarly 
flat country, and each side figured that it needed it 
in its business. 

The Mound of St. Eloi wakens some of the grim- 
mest recollections among surviving veterans of the 
British and Canadians who fought there or in its 
neighborhood on the Western Front for two years. 



CHAPTER XXI 
"WITH— THE BOYS!" 

AFTER sustaining their share of the ordeal in 
The Barrier trench, my Pats retired to a farm 
" about a half-mile from the village of Dicke- 
busch, and after partaking of an issue of well-earned 
rum they had a fairly comfortable night. 

On March 19 they returned to the front and took 
their position in the same old trenches. They ar- 
rived in the midst of a rush of acknowledged per- 
plexity and confusion. Nobody seemed to know 
what deployment to make, or anything tangible 
about arrangements. 

Colonel Farquahar had to be here, there and 
everywhere, seemingly almost simultaneously. He 
would rush up to the front line trenches and then 
rush back, as he insisted upon seeing to all the detail 
himself. 

The Adjutant warned him that he should be more 
cautious, but he knew no fear. He seerned to be- 
lieve that no bullets of the Hun brand would do him 
harm. Besides, he insisted, he must see that all 
went well in front — and he must be as far in front 
as the wires would allow. 

Added to the apparent anxiety and uncertainty of 
those in control of the situation, the weather was 
very bad and the nights very cold. The fighting 

206 



" WITH— THE BOYS ! " 207 

was savage. The Huns were bent on breaking 
through at St. Eloi; they attacked it first from one 
side, then from the other. They showered a cruelly 
continual bombardment on either side, with no 
reciprocal returns from the British. It seemed to 
many of the Pats that it was a case of good men 
and willing muscle being pitted against machinery 
geared with devilish brains. 

However, at present the war machinery was not 
to be had by the British, and their war brain was 
temporarily flustered, doubtless from that very 
lack. 

In such a case, with the nervousness from " higher 
up " filtering through to the men, splendid leadership 
was the most golden of assets, and this the Patricias 
enjoyed to a superlative degree. Colonel Farquahar 
remained cool, efficient, indefatigable. His vigi- 
lance was tireless, and his good example reacted 
upon his men and renewed their confidence. 

The strain was increasing. By now even those 
Pats in supports were compelled to work day and 
night digging new trenches, deepening old ones, 
putting up wires, building death-trap dugouts and 
preparing for a new line of defense if necessary. 

Such was the hurly-burly rush upon a dark, wild, 
memorable night. Everybody was rushing hither 
and thither after no well-defined plan, so far as 
could be seen. It was known that there was a night 
and day shift of the Germans, who had been re- 
doubling their offensive efforts. There was always 
about an hour between the changing of these shifts 
that was fairly quiet. These intervals occurred at 



2o8 MOPPING UP! 

dusk and again at dawn. But after that, Fritz in- 
variably resumed his raising of hell. 

Fritz seemed equally facile and deadly, whether 
he chanced to be working in the day qr in the night. 

It so happened on the night of March 20, 1915; 
an hour that those Patricias who have survived the 
rigors of war will never forget. 

Colonel Farquahar was inspecting the front line 
trenches, his busy mind teeming with the problems 
which every passing day now rendered more acute. 
He was explaining to Colonel Dwyer, of the 
K.R.R.'s, the conclusions he had formed, and 
Colonel Dwyer was agreeing with him. 

" That hill over there," Colonel Farquahar was 
saying, " I would let go." He illustrated with 
sweeping gestures. " I would retake this other hill, 
as it dominates the other by twenty feet. Their 
position would be then rendered untenable " 

Crack! 

His speech broke off abruptly. He crumpled and 
sank to the ground. 

There in the sombre darkness — for the night was 
especially black, a winged menace in the shape of a 
stray Mauser bullet from the enemy trenches had 
passed through his body, entering at the breast. 

Men sprang to his side and picked him up. They 
carried him back, under fire, to the dressing station. 

The M.O. gave his wound a searching examina- 
tion and shook his head. Then swiftly he bandaged 
the wound and made him as comfortable as possible. 

The Adjutant sat beside his cot. The doctor's 
hand rested over the heart. He looked at his watch 



" WITH— THE BOYS ! " 209 

and counted the seconds. The stretcher bearers 
stood with bared heads and talked in whispers. 

Now the Adjutant knelt at his head and pressed 
a hand against the cold brow. The minutes crawled 
by, leaden slow. 

"If only he would open his eyes!" murmured 
Captain Duller. 

" I fear he never will again," answered Major 
Keenan as quietly. " But I wish he would speak! " 
Inquiringly he glanced at the surgeon. 

" I'm afraid not; with a wound like that," the 
surgeon told them. He had see many soldiers die. 

" Yet — the look in his face — it seems rational 
enough," said Captain Buller. 

All were speaking in that strange hushed tone. 
As If it mattered now, when in the ears of the dying 
soldier even the thunders of the great guns, belching 
death in the black night, sounded faint, like the 
receding echoes of menace in a dream ! 

Then, quite unexpectedly, the Colonel opened his 
eyes. The doctor, bending over him, caught his 
desire. 

" Hush ! " he said quickly. " He wants to 
speak." 

The Colonel tried to raise his head, but could 
not. He feebly moved one arm, and with a tre- 
mendous effort gasped the words: 

''Bury me — iicith — the boys!" 

He had half lifted his arm. Now It fell. He 
relaxed after this supreme effort. 

"Yes, yes!" answered Captain Buller. "What 
else? " There was no response. 



2IO MOPPING UP! 

Outside the dressing station the shells were burst- 
ing thickly. Bullets whizzed by the door. Un- 
mindful of bullets or shells, men came and went. 

The Colonel stirred again. A quiver of agony 
crossed his face. Major Keenan put something in 
his mouth. 

Other stretcher bearers arrived with a wounded 
man o' the line. The poor fellow was twisting hor- 
ribly and his face was contorted with agony. He 
tried to murmur something. His voice was faint. 
Apparently he was slipping with the Colonel across 
the border. 

The surgeon hurriedly applied temporary relief 
and turned again to the Colonel, the Idol of the 
regiment, commander of fighting men, the pick of 
nearly all the nations of the globe. He had led 
them in life; dying he dominated them; dominated 
them through love rather than with the brutish fear 
inbred In lashed and servile Huns. 

The surgeon again placed his hand over the 
Colonel's heart. He shook his head again, but said 
no word. 

More stretcher bearers entered with other 
wounded men. "They are K.R.R.'s, sir," said the 
orderly. Medical sergeants, orderlies and stretcher 
bearers stood about the commander with sombre 
faces, wishing desperately that he might be recalled 
from the shadow of death. 

They watched sadly the man who had been ac- 
credited one of the best soldiers, in courage and in 
brain and In intelligent mastery, on the Western 
Front. He was a man for whom the pinnacles of 



" WITH— THE BOYS ! " 211 

military authority had been predicted. But the gods 
of war had willed for him an early bivouac. 

Again the Colonel's face twisted in agony. His 
eyes partially opened with a painful twitch. His 
fair face was ashen; his cheeks drawn and hollow; 
his chin had dropped; his breath came spasmodically 
from laboring lungs. 

The interior of the building was damp; the night 
was bitter cold. Yet the Adjutant's face dripped 
perspiration as he knelt on the stone floor by the 
Colonel's side. His warm hand pressed his idolized 
commander's chilling forehead; then it shifted to 
search for his dwindling pulse. 

There was a look of strained awe, almost of 
terror, in the Adjutant's eyes. His actions were 
automatic. Once or twice it seemed as if he would 
speak, but he did not. Helplessly he hoped for a 
few more words from the dry lips; he watched for 
a look of recognition, a sign of consciousness from 
his lifelong friend. 

The M.O., who had been busy ministering to the 
other wounded men, came again to the cot. Again 
he felt the heart. 

" A moment more," he said gravely, and reluc- 
tantly turned away. 

No priest or preacher was there for the last rites. 
But once it was said : 

''As ye live, so shall ye die." 

The Colonel had lived a soldier's life; a soldier's 
death he died. 

He would not have willed it otherwise. Sur- 



212 MOPPING UP! 

rounded by his comrades; with the funeral dirge of 
shot and shell around him; with his face to the foe 
till the last. He had answered his country's call; 
he had fought for the flag he loved; he was dying 
for the cause in which he believed. 

" As ye live, so shall ye die!' 

No truer words were ever spoken. 

He was gasping brokenly now; the pauses between 
the sobbing intakes were appallingly long. His 
mouth was opened wide In the effort for air; nature 
struggling to the last for life. In the face the ashen 
hue of death was deepening. The circle of silent 
watchers about the cot grew closer. 

Came a final long shuddering gasp. The ears of 
the watchers were strained for the next. There 
was none. 

Now, however, In the tortured face grew a 
change. O'erspread It the look of peace that comes 
in that last moment that is beyond finite under- 
standing. 

The pale lips opened stiffly. Toward them the 
Adjutant inclined his ear. 

He caught the words, breathed faintly, as if a 
breeze were dying: 

''The— boys!" 

Then — silence. 



CHAPTER XXII 
BROTHERS MEET 

MAJOR KEENAN walked to the cot where 
lay the body of Colonel Farquahar. He 
laid his hand on the breast. Then he 
folded the relaxed arms across the chest. 

Captain Duller, the Adjutant, had continued to 
hold the head of the man he had loved so well. 
Now he laid it back gently on the stretcher. The 
clock showed 9:35 p.m. 

Silence still held in the room though the din of 
battle raged outside. 

A soldier's spirit, a ruling spirit, had passed on. 
A life story was ended; a book of promise and of 
inspiration was closed. Britain had lost a splendid 
soldier. The P.P.C.L.I.'s had bidden farewell to a 
leader and a friend. From Canada had been 
exacted another bitter sacrifice. 

The following afternoon the Princess Patricias 
marched, carrying the body of their dead com- 
mander, to a lonely burial ground in Vlamertinghe. 
There he was laid in a soldier's grave. In the burial 
ground were mounds that sheltered the bodies of 
other members of the Patricia regiment. So the 
Colonel's last words were heeded: 

*' Bury me with the boys." 

He was laid away with all the military honors 



214 MOPPING UP! 

of the brigade and battalion. The cemetery was 
situated behind the last house to the left of the road 
on entering the village, which was now a demolished 
pile of brick and stone. Even the cemetery itself 
was not immune from the vicious bombardment. 
There lies Colonel Farquahar among the comrades 
he loved and who loved him. 

The battalion moved to Poperinghe, and near 
that city they rested very comfortably for a few 
days that were positively happy. For a Canadian 
soldier, in an interval of rest, is able to emerge from 
the strain and behave as if he had not a care in the 
world, even amid the din of battle. The only 
shadow now, to mar concerted spirits, was the death 
of Colonel Farquahar, but the men were resigned 
to the grim inevitability of this. 

The weather was lovely for the first time since 
the Pats had come to Europe. The sun was quite 
warm; there was a thrilling breath in the air of 
the spring that was about to be born. Small wonder 
that the spirits of the Pats revived; that they looked 
upon a fleeting vestige of peace and found it 
good; that the estaminets beckoned to them not in 
vain. 

The proprietors of those Belgian estaminets had 
discovered early how freely would Canadian sol- 
diers spend their money when they had the oppor- 
tunity to do so. Doubtless, this discovery revealed 
to the proprietors one of the few bright spots in the 
war. 

Whenever the Jack Canucks were off duty they 
would flock into the estaminets on all corners of 



BROTHERS MEET 215 

the roads. There they would drink to the success 
of the cause; to the dear old home across the sea; 
to the loved one left there and to the wish to see 
her again. So they would sit and sip their glasses 
of lightest French beer, and chat, and dream, and 
hope wistfully, bewhiles, for the return of peace 
to bind up the wounds of the world, and hope that 
it would be granted them to return to the arts of 
peace fit to again take up a man's work. 

How many of these dreams in the estaminets, 
when glasses were clinking cheerily and the blue 
smoke curled upward from the tips of their fags, 
were destined perhaps to be dissolved by death, to 
be drowned in tears ! 

Nothing of importance transpired till the Pats 
arrived at Ypres on April 5. 

They marched through Ypres and took billets in 
a public school building in one of the main streets 
of the city. Captain Buller, former Adjutant, was 
now Colonel of the Pats, succeeding the commander 
he had loved so well and mourned so sincerely. 

Ypres contained 30,000 people, it was said. Its 
most interesting sight was then the beautiful Cloth 
Hall, so called, a large building made entirely of 
cloth where hundreds of women were employed, 
making many kinds of lacework. 

At about the center of the city, too, was a very 
curious tank, which was built of stone and stood high 
in the air. 

The boys enjoyed themselves thoroughly during 
those two days in Ypres. 

On April 7 the battalion again took its place in 



2i6 MOPPING UP! 

the trenches in front of Hill 60, but these trenches 
were only supports for the firing line, and holding 
them was like play compared with the ordeal of hold- 
ing the previous trenches they had occupied. 

This was their first introduction to the village of 
Hooge. It was then a beautiful place, though im- 
mediately destined to be devastated by war. 

Behind it was located a gentleman's estate occupy- 
ing many acres of cultivated, well-kept grounds. 
There was an artificial lake of about five acres, with 
boathouses and many boats. The woodland and 
castle in front of it, the gardens behind it, all 
helped to form a most beautiful picture. 

In this woodland were located the dugouts. But 
as the front line was quite a distance away, the boys 
roamed about and enjoyed the scenery. They vis- 
ited neighboring farms to secure good things; also 
the estaminets for their cafe au la'it and other re- 
freshments. 

A few days spent in such surroundings was a 
pleasure rather than a task; especially when com- 
pared with previous duties in a front line trench 
around St. Eloi, Schelley's farm, Brassery Road and 
the other salient positions! 

Such surroundings, of course, were far too ideal 
for the vocation of soldiering in deadly earnest. 
Soon the Pats were removed to the famous PoUegon 
Wood, which a little later came to be known as 
*' Dead Man's Wood." Here they occupied the 
front line trenches for many days. There many a 
poor Canadian lies burled. Still, these were the 
only trenches the Pats had yet occupied from whence 



BROTHERS MEET 217 

a wounded man could be removed during the day- 
time. 

This was possible because of a low hollow leading 
straight back to the dressing station, this hollow 
sheltering the wounded and stretcher bearers from 
the enemy fire. 

^fter a few days of this they returned to Vlamer- 
tinghe, which village then had 3,000 people. In 
common with most of the other communities of that 
sector it was soon to be annihilated. 

There the Pats were quartered in huts, and after 
a rest they again returned to Ypres. 

In entering the city, another battalion, wearing 
kilts, was marching into the same street at right 
angles. The Pats took them for British troops. 

Immediately, however, some of the *' kilties " saw 
the insignia " P.P.C.L.I." on the shoulders of the 
men of the Canuck regiment which had already won 
fame in this war to a degree that would have 
amazed its gallant members, had they known 
of it. 

The effect through the ranks of the kilties was 
electrical. Everybody seemed to become cognizant 
at once of the identity of the Pats. A dozen of the 
kilties stopped short in their tracks and yelled at 
once greetings like these: 

" Hello, Pats ! " . . . " Don't you know us, old 
kids?" . . . "My God! They don't speak to 
common folks, hey?" . . . "Say, Pats, give us 
a pleasant look! " 

The Pats recognized a familiar accent. They 
glanced swiftly across at the collection of kilties. 



2i8 MOPPING UP! 

The grinning faces, the jaunty, carefree manner, 
the bluff cordiahty were unmistakable. 

It was a battalion of Canadian kilties that greeted 
them! 

At once every man in each of those two battalions, 
as recognition became mutually complete, halted and 
rushed out of the line for a general fraternity 
meeting. 

Heedless of the thundered orders of officers and 
N.C.O.'s alike to remain in line, rifles were dis- 
carded, packs let down, and a scrambling, yelling, 
laughing mob of Canucks, half of them in khaki and 
the other half in kilts, danced, shook hands and 
slapped one another's backs there in the Ypres 
streets. Some even embraced, after the French 
fashion. 

The kilties were members of the First Canadian 
Contingent and were just arriving in Flanders from 
England, ready to try their luck against the Hun. 
Their joy on meeting the Pats may be imagined. 
'And that of the Pats, as well, because as they were 
attached to a British division, these were the first 
Canadians they had seen since leaving Salisbury 
Plains. 

So madly reciprocal was the welcome that you 
would have thought both battalions had just arrived 
home in Canada. 

Both sides volleyed countless questions at each 
other before they reluctantly obeyed the repeated 
official orders to fall in and resume their marching, 
but finally the hike to their respective quarters was 
resumed. 



BROTHERS MEET 219 

This time the Pats occupied soldiers' barracks in 
Ypres. It was a big building, accommodating 
12,000 soldiers. The boards were hard to lie on, 
without straw, but at least this was an improvement 
on the trenches. 

Two nights were all that was spent here. They 
were again moved to a place on the railroad for a 
few hours just before returning to the trenches. 

When darkness fell they marched back to the 
Pollegon Wood, to seek and find more trouble. 



CHAPTER XXIII 
TROUBLE THICKENS 

THE Second Battle of Ypres was now under 
way. It was a test of iron. Under it, the 
Hun, magnificently equipped for carrying out 
his expressed intention of breaking through to 
Calais, was to fail. This would be due to his meet- 
ing stouter hearts and a leonine courage superior to 
his own. 

It was on April i8 that the Pats took their posi- 
tion in the trenches of PoUegon Wood, with the rest 
of the 8oth Brigade, of the 27th Division. 

The 27th Division consisted of the 80th, 8ist and 
82nd Brigades. The 80th Brigade, to which was 
attached the P.P.C.L.I.'s, also contained two bat- 
talions of the K.R.R.'s, the Third and Fourth; two 
battalions of regiments known as the Rifle Brigade, 
and one battalion of the Shropshire Light Infantry, 
known as the " Shrops." 

The 8 1 St Brigade was composed of Gloucesters, 
the Royal Scots, the Argyle and Sutherland High- 
landers, and Cameronians. The Royal Scots and 
Gloucesters had two battalions each. There were 
six battalions, by the way, in each brigade. All 
tnese Scottish regiments wore kilts except the Ar- 
gyles and Southern Highlanders, who were garbed 
in khaki. 

The 82nd Brigade was composed of the Duke 



TROUBLE THICKENS 221 

of Cornwall's Light Infantry; the Royal Canadian 
Linchester (pronounced "Linsters"), so called 
from being organized and stationed so long at Hali- 
fax, It had been years before when the battalion 
had been thus organized, the only British battalion 
with a Canadian name, of which the members were 
very proud. To this brigade also belonged two 
battalions of the Irish Fusiliers, the Royal Irish 
Rifles and the Duke of Cambridge's Territorials. 

The Wessex Engineers were attached to the di- 
vision. These units, with several batteries of artil- 
lery, comprised the gallant 27th. This organization 
was christened " The Stone Wall Division " by Sir 
John French after the argument at St. Eloi and the 
Second Battle of Ypres. 

The 80th and 8ist Brigades held the ground 
directly In front of Ypres. This included Hill 60 
and Pollegon Wood. 

To their left was deployed the first Canadian 
division to do duty In Flanders. To the left of 
this division were the French Turcos. 

It was known that the Germans were massing 
troops in the rear for an attack. The fighting was 
severe all along the salient, with threatened con- 
certed attacks at various points. 

It was now that the Germans Interspersed their 
attacks of shot and shell with choice specimens of 
their Insidious propaganda; which, then as now, in- 
telUgent peoples who were approached with It had 
no difficulty In reading Its falsity and correctly 
analyzing Its hypocritical source. 

The Germans In front of the Both Brigade, to 



222 MOPPING UP! 

which were attached my Pats, frequently crawled 
up to the barbed wire, and taking shelter in craters, 
exhorted their British foemen in curious fashion. 
They must have been picked men for this job, as 
the defenders of Ypres noticed that they spoke Eng- 
lish with singular precision and fluency. 

The effect was weird as these dialogues were car- 
ried on in the daytime or perhaps sometimes in the 
evenings, mild with the approaching spring. Would 
arise the plaintive Teuton voice from some position 
of cunning concealment outside the barbed wire; 
would reply from their trench the sharper, more 
strident voices of Englishmen or Canadians, flung 
from the depths of the trench, for they were by no 
means exposing themselves to treachery. The 
" give-and-take " would be exchanged without the 
debaters seeing one another. 

"Englander!" would hail the hypocritical voice 
of the unseen agent of propaganda; or perhaps it 
would be, " Men of Canada ! " Almost in this voice 
would drip crocodile tears; the rare sentiment of a 
race which can at once drop bombs on mothers and 
their babies, and weep over the necessity of war 
which rendered this action necessary. For, if the 
infants were boy babies, they might grow up to take 
a whack at Germany sometime. And, If the mothers 
had only girl babies; well, they might have boy 
babies later, and it would never do to take the 
chance of letting them live ! 

" Hello, Fritzle, what do you want now? " would 
float across No Man's Land from the greeted trench 
in response to Heinle's halL 



TROUBLE THICKENS 223^ 

" Englanders, your losses must have heavy been," 
would whine the voice of the Kaiserhound in reply. 
"Why should we fight? After all, are we not 
brothers? " 

" No ! " in horror yelled one big Canuck who, 
with a group of Pat defenders, was asked this ques- 
tion. " Say, if you ever dare to claim relationship 
to me, I'll cut loose on you." 

The usual Teutonic appreciation of the little 
ironies spoken by the men of the American continent 
is dull. Serenely Fritz kept on. In his voice was 
a complaining note, similar to the song of a jig-saw: 
"Why fight? Enough of blood is already shed. 
Let us all stop. We Germans are anxious to get 
back to our homes and do our spring planting." 

"Don't go home, Fritz;" pleaded another 
Canuck. " Stick around; stay right here. We'll 
do your spring planting for you. We'll plant you 
deep!" 

Which was all the satisfaction secured by that 
particular emissary of the right-hand pal of the 
monstrosity known to idolatry specialists as the 
" German God! " 

And it was all the satisfaction any of the oily- 
tongued blond devils got, whether they addressed 
" Englanders " or Canadians. All along the line, 
from their positions in the sheltered spots to which 
they crawled, they whined their arguments for an 
armistice, in some cases gravely assuring their foes 
that the Kaiser would extend clemency to them. 
They seemed nonplussed at the indifference which 
our soldiers seemed to feel toward their Kaiser, and 



224 MOPPING UP! 

were actually shocked at the Irreverent manner — 
many instances of which I could quote, but they 
would never get by the censor — In which English 
and Canadians were wont to speak of the " war 
lord " of whom his creatures had apparently made 
a tin god. 

Especially were they grieved at the Canadians' 
habit of referring to Wilhelm Hohenzollern by 
the plain, unvarnished, democratic diminutive of 
"Bill!" They simply could not understand such 
Use majestel 

In these forays of eloquence the Huns were wont 
to solemnly point out to the British their " folly " 
in crossing to European soil to fight, for which crime 
against Sister Germania they would certainly be 
strafed by " Gott " ! " When you were not being 
attacked at home you had no right to do this," they 
argued. " It was a quarrel between lands of 
Europe that did not concern you." 

" Yes! " yelled back a big Pat on one occasion. 
*' Lick 'em one at a time; that was your card, but 
we spoiled it. Only trouble with you is, you're thick. 
Did you think you could do that without us all 
getting wise? " 

To the German appeals to " stop fighting and go 
home," answers were returned like this: 

"Why don't you go home? You're closer to 
your home than we are. You're not defending 
German soil ! " 

Had the British known as much of the German 
nature as they know now, they would have uner- 
ringly recognized these " kamerad " wails from the 



TROUBLE THICKENS 225 

shell holes as a Teutonic trick intended to hoodwink, 
terrorize and discourage their opponents. While 
pretending to wave an olive branch they were pre- 
paring their dirtiest trick thus far of the war, for 
in a matter of hours now their deadly gas would 
be ready for release ! However, their linguistic at- 
tempt did not succeed, for nobody was discouraged. 

" Go home, is it? " shouted one of the Pats to the 
unseen exhorter. " Why, Heinie, we haven't started 
to fight yet! " 

With Vimy Ridge and Lens and the other 
grapples to follow, if that particular German still 
lives, he must have decided long since that the 
" Canadian devil " was right! 

From reports received during the day before the 
gas attack, this tirade to try to make their opponents 
quit proceeded, after an organized plan, all along 
the line, and it succeeded nowhere. 

The very next morning, bright and early, the 
Huns launched their first gas attack of the war, 
selecting the French troops as the first victims. 

The swift result was that havoc was created 
among the poor Morocco Colonials. Many were 
overcome, and the others, half suffocated, rushed to 
the rear, leaving the Canadian flank exposed. It 
will be recalled that this brutal attack by gas, further 
violating the rules of civilized warfare, was a stun- 
ning surprise. The wonder was the resultant speed 
and resource of the AUies in minimizing these at- 
tacks by the use of masks, and showing the Germans 
that two could play at the game by prompt reprisals. 

Right here was one of the most critical points of 



226 MOPPING UP! 

the war. The Huns had every advantage In prep- 
aration over the defenders of Hberty — save one. 
That was the element of fighting manhood. 

History has recorded the gallant stand made by 
the Canadians under these most adverse of circum- 
stances. They lost some ground, to be sure, but 
they recaptured some of it, and continued to inter- 
pose their stone wall of defense between the Ger- 
mans and Calais. 

The 27th Division deployed so as to support the 
Canadians. Pollegon Wood was on a hill, and its 
defenders constantly heard the terrific fighting which 
developed to the left of the woodland. It was at 
that point that the Germans gassed the French and 
broke through and overpowered the few remaining 
survivors in the trenches. The Canadians who 
joined the French to the right found themselves in 
a precarious position on one of their first trips to 
the trenches. 

It was in that terrible fighting to the left that 
Canadian troops covered the Maple Leaf with a 
glory as warm-hued as is that insignia of Canada 
and of Nature in the days of autumn. The Pats in 
Pollegon Wood heard little of the details at the 
time, though they knew from the intensity of the 
bombardment that an awful struggle was in prog- 
ress. It was in that engagement, fighting like devils 
against the most powerful odds; being overwhelmed, 
and then in fierce counter-attacks re-winning much 
of the lost ground; that the Canucks, despite stag- 
gering losses, closed up the ranks and confounded 
the Huns with such fighting as they had never seep. 



TROUBLE THICKENS 227 

It was after that battle that the entire world knew 
Canada for what it was; a nation of Spartans that 
had proved itself in a day. 

In this fighting at the left of the line, the rattle 
and din of the Canadian machine guns was inces- 
sant. They had only this weapon, in addition to 
the rifles and trusty bayonets, while the Germans 
had plenty of big guns. 

Against their equipment the Canadians had, in the 
earlier stages of the battle, but two batteries of four 
guns each, occupying a position behind their forces. 
Through massed attacks the Germans, supported 
by a furious artillery bombardment overran the 
trenches and the Canucks, fighting like tigers, were 
swept back to these two batteries of field guns. 

There, for some time, the gunners, swearing, 
sweating, fighting like fiends of the pit, held back 
the gray-clad hosts who swept forward to capture 
the guns. 

Wave after wave was mowed down under the 
terrific fire. ♦Under the frenzied, lashing orders of 
their officers the waves rolled on, closer and closer, 
for artillery cannot cope against such dense infantry 
attacks unless it is itself supported by infantry. 
And under the fierce hammering of the Teutons, 
who vastly outnumbered them, the Canadian in- 
fantry had been temporarily swept back of the guns. 
Many of them, too, lay dead or wounded in the 
trenches, and many had been taken prisoners. 

Finally the Germans were almost upon the guns. 
The majority of the crews were dead, or lay 
wounded and writhing near their field pieces. 



228 MOPPING UP! 

Those who were left prepared for the parting 
volley, manning what number of guns they could, 
with their decimated ranks. In firing that last 
round, they made history. 

In manipulating the guns, they contrived that the 
shrapnel should explode at zero, which meant that 
the rain of death exploded as it left the muzzles of 
the guns, killing the gunners and spitting destruction 
in the faces of the oncoming hordes who had yelled 
in triumph as they came on, finally to capture the 
batteries. 

Then the last of the gunners disappeared in a 
vortex of swarming Huns, frantic for vengeance. 

It was the first time in the war that artillerymen, 
unsupported by infantry, ever performed that feat. 
The last explosion, at zero, will live in the annals 
of the world's war, preserving the record of a deed 
which meant certain sacrifice for those perform- 
ing it. 

In the counter-attacks which followed the occu- 
pation of this ground and the capture of the bat- 
teries by the Germans, British and Canadians re- 
captured a good part of the ground and one of the 
batteries. 

Surely, the Germans were discovering that there 
were still obstacles on the road to Calais ! 

Meanwhile, my Pats had seen some lively fighting 
in Pollegon Wood, though their brothers to the 
left — which deployment, by the way, contained some 
of the Canadian " kilties " who had welcomed the 
Patricias while marching into Ypres — had thus far 
had a harder time than the Pats. 



TROUBLE THICKENS 229 

Their casualties had been severe, too, and it was 
during those few days that I lost two warm friends. 

There was the Provost Sergeant, who had been 
shot through the body, but it seemed at first that he 
would recover. He was cheerful when taken away, 
and promised the boys that he would be with them 
again shortly. But two days later came the word 
that he had died. He left the memory of a gallant 
soldier — and a wife and three children to mourn 
him. 

Then there was Corporal Waldron, who was also 
shot through the body. From the first it was evi- 
dent that the poor boy was fatally wounded. His 
young face, which had been happy and carefree, 
with the zest of a great adventure shining thereon, 
became immediately gray and pinched and drawn. 
The frank smile had faded forever. 

With strange suddenness hollows appeared in his 
cheeks. He twisted and turned upon the stretcher 
in the dressing station, trying in vain to ease the 
pain, but each new position seemed more unbear- 
able. 

He would try to thank the attendants as they 
turned him. " Oh, yes," he would mumble, " that's 
better." But in a moment they would have to turn 
him again. 

Waldron had been liked by them all. Medical 
attendants and stretcher bearers did their best to 
ease his pain, but without success. There was the 
touch of but one hand that v/ould do that, and the 
time-old ghostly figure was not yet ready to apply it. 
However, Death has his moments of pity. He' 



230 MOPPING UP! 

drew nearer. The spasms of pain dulled, grew a 
little fainter. 

Waldron's frank smile had not been banished 
forever, as they had thought. It came again, il- 
luminating the face on which the death damps were 
gathering. 

His voice came faintly. " Good-bye, boys. I'll 
soon be — home." 

With a shock they soon discovered that he meant 
his earthly home. Their lips remained sealed be- 
fore this pitiful hallucination. Not for worlds 
would they have told him that he was about to cross 
the dark river. And had they done so, it Is doubt- 
ful if he would have comprehended It. 

He mumbled of good times In the past; of good 
times to come. He would soon be again with her, 
he said; about a month in the hospital would fix him. 

With such a sunny soul as his, the last moments 
are not of gloom. Somehow, In a state which 
seemed to be of mild delirium, he appeared to look 
forward to an unbroken life of happiness, of faith, 
of love, of usefulness, with her. 

Sometimes, too, he whispered of Canada, of the 
love of his flag which had sent him overseas. This, 
too, had lain close to his heart, it was plain to see. 
Then his wandering thought veered again to her, 
whom he had loved deeply enough to leave and cross 
the ocean to battle against a cynical foe that re- 
spected not liberty nor love nor the women and 
children of the world. Yes; after all. It had been 
for her he had fought; for her and for Canada; 
and it was for them he was dying. 



TROUBLE THICKENS 231 

" Let's go into the orchard, dear," he murmured. 
"We can see the sunset over here; it's beautiful! 
Where are Jimmie and Ida ? I thought they were 
home " 

He was silent a moment, while a bewildered 
expression crept over his white face. Then it 
lighted with a wan ghost of the smile as he 
looked up. 

He could see none of his comrades now. He 
could not see even the stony-eyed angel of death, 
standing by his stretcher, its cold hand extended 
to touch his brow. 

"That last parcel!" he breathed. "It was — 
-fine! But the socks — were a mile too small for 
me — ha, ha ! — dear, I guess you forgot how big my 
feet are ! I — guess . . . 

"Aren't those strawberries lovely? . . . 
Mother! what are those bells? . . . Where — is 
. . . wh " 

He was silent now. 

The M.O. for the K.R.R.'s walked over to his 
stretcher and looked at him. 

The M.O. was pale and tired and grave. For 
days he had been busy and the strain was killing. 

He gently laid a tunic over the white face. 

" Put him outside, boys," he said. " We need 
that stretcher." 

Such is war. 



CHAPTER XXIV 
WAITING 

WHILE this terrific fighting was In progress 
to the left, as I have described, my 
Patricias in Pollegon Wood had at first 
expected relief in three or four days. When it did 
not come they were not surprised, for rumors 
reached them of the desperate state of things to the 
left. By contrast with this, they were almost com- 
fortable in their trenches in Pollegon Wood ! 

Nature was in ironic mood throughout the days 
of this hell of sight and sound, of the warring 
phantasmagoria of the pit loosed in the shrinking 
world. For returning spring, placid and weirdly 
unconscious of the realm of blood and iron through 
which she showered her glories, touched with her 
magic fingers wood and field. 

Tender leaves budded above the hastily filled-in 
mounds beneath which lay many a stricken soldier. 
In the night, during a lull in the sullen cannonade, 
was audible a soft-voiced breeze, stirring among the 
leaves. With the acrid smell of powder in the air 
mingled the odor of ferns and young grasses. 

During the days, and even after the enemy began 
to bombard the wood, birds, athrill with the spirit 
of love at nesting time, continued to sing among 
the rent branches of the trees, placidly hving their 

232 



WAITING 233 

simple lives of peace as if in a world apart from this 
that man was transforming into an inferno. Even 
while raged the thunders of the guns, persisted their 
thin, plaintive, bubbling songs. But it was when the 
roar of the guns temporarily subsided that they sang 
the more loudly and cheerily. 

The Herce German attack to the left temporarily 
won them trenches a mile deep and over a terrain 
from three to four miles wide. This Hun advan- 
tage left the 80th Brigade, in PoUegon Wood, ex- 
posed in a sharp salient, with Germans on three 
sides. Defending the 80th Brigade was but one 
French battery, of four or five guns, near a farm- 
house behind the Pats, 

It was suddenly discovered that the Huns were 
firing on the brigade from three sides, and that the 
position in the wood was no longer tenable. So, 
about the 26th of April, the battery at the farm- 
house had to move further back. 

The Germans now centered their fire on Pollegon 
Wood, raking both flanks of the defending force 
and causing many casualties. The Huns were con- 
tinuing to mass troops on their front, and were 
bringing up more light and heavy batteries. 

However, the 80th Brigade Engineers had not 
been idle. They were preparing a second line of 
defense further back to straighten out the line 
that the Huns had for the time succeeded In 
denting. 

The trenches in Pollegon Wood had not been 
overlooked by the enemy. The daily casualties from 
shell fire had been heavy. The Fritzies shelled the 



234 MOPPING UP! 

trenches every day, taking a daily toll in killed and 
wounded. 

It was during these closing days of April, when 
the Canadians were fighting with all their powers, 
that the world was electrified with the valor of this 
new fighting nation from the North American con- 
tinent. The fighting men of the United States — 
who were later to be christened " Sammies " by the 
French when they crossed the seas — had been known 
to the world before. They had written their names 
imperishably with their blood, over a period of one 
hundred and fifty years. But this other nation, of 
broad boundaries but fewer men, had been unknown 
• — and now the world marveled. 

And none, of all the nations, marveled more than 
did the barbarous Hun ! A mere handful of un- 
trained men, but with giant strength and the hearts 
of lions, interposed between the German bully and 
the road to Calais. They tripped up the blond 
Colossus; they bewildered and confounded him; they 
dealt him such a blow in the solar plexus that he 
ultimately went reeling away back eastward to the 
Russian front, to think it over! 

On May 2 the brigade defending Pollegon 
Wood received orders to prepare to depart. Simi- 
lar orders were issued all along the line, and that 
night the entire division moved back to the second 
line of defense. 

This proved to be located directly in front of 
Hooge, the beautiful town that was now at once 
destined to fall In shattered ruins, another sacrifice 
to the Moloch of war. 



WAITING 235 

The Pats' battalion was retired to the new 
trenches, ten per cent at a time, in the hours pre- 
ceding dawn of May 2, for the order to prepare 
had come in the night. All equipment, ammunition 
and food were moved back. Major Keenan, our 
good M.O., with the stretcher bearers carrying the 
wounded men, was the last to leave the trenches in 
the wood. The new positions were a mile farther 
back. 

Colonel Buller, of the Pats, with remarkable 
foresight and military acumen, had selected an ideal 
ground for purposes of defense, with the front line 
trenches immediately in front of a long hedge fence. 
This hedge fence was on the crest of a raise in the 
land, and was used for the supports. Its position 
was such that the bullets fired from the front would 
go over the heads of the men behind the supports. 

The new trenches were not so comfortable as 
had been those in the wood, nor were there any 
dugouts. Also, the men had to crouch in these 
trenches, as they were too shallow to stand erect 
in. But, what time they had, the Patricias worked 
on them, and they were soon in better shape than 
when the battalion entered them. 

It was a long prelude, counting the time passed in 
Pollegon Wood, before the test of May 8, during 
which the Princess Patricias should establish in a 
bloody epic of courage and suffering and death their 
claim to a position in history approximating the 
" noble six hundred " of which Lord Tennyson 
wrote in his " Charge of the Light Brigade." A 
long prelude; and now the enemy's bombardment 



236 MOPPING UP! 

was slowly and steadily, frightfully, increasing in 
intensity. 

The motif was deepening, throbbing, achieving a 
note of utter barbaric savagery toward the climax 
of the Second Battle of Ypres. Not one of the de- 
fenders in front of the ruined city but who felt that 
the most titanic struggle of the war was coming; 
not one of them but who felt thrills and tremors 
Yvith. the certainty that — at an hour and a moment 
that the enemy would decide, he would mass all his 
forces in a tremendous effort to break through, to 
take Ypres and from thence forge onward to Calais. 

So in the days, while the shells screamed and 
whined, and the puffs of shrapnel writhed in the 
spring air, and the diabolical munitions of war made 
a wilderness of a garden, the men waited, feeling 
the black tide of menace rising. In the nights, 
with star shells illuminating the blackness and the 
sullen booming of the guns unstilled, the men 
Vv^aited, and felt the black tide, as raven-hued as 
the shadows of the night itself, drawing nearer; 
nearer; nearer. Still they waited, till the moment 
when it should reach them, and break in billows 
of chaos over them. 

It might seem to the layman that men waiting 
as my Pats were waiting; with every nerve strained 
with the expectation of worse to come; knowing 
that the apex of the storm had not been reached; 
would be passing their time differently than they 
had been in the habit of passing it. Perhaps they 
would be absorbed in profitable meditation, making 
their peace with heaven. Maybe they would be 



WAITING 237 

engaged in prayer. Possibly they would be 
draughting rude wills. 

But, if he engages in such surmises, the layman 
forgets the basic elements of human nature. 

Are the cities of lands, like Canada, saddened by 
the forays of the war god supine under the cloud 
he has brought, even with the spectacle of returned 
wrecks of citizens, spent with wounds; and with 
the reading of bulletined deaths of gallant sons? 

On the contrary, the lights of the cities of 
Canada were never brighter; business was never 
more profitable ; vigor never more combative. 

It is this stiffness of the public backbone; a spine 
that will bend but not break; that proves human 
nature the glorious thing it is. But for this ability 
to defy the blackest of troubles, the world would be 
to-day going mad. 

So it was with my Pats, awaiting the deadliest 
eruption of the Hun volcano before Ypres. 
Things went on precisely as before. The Pats 
knew that all Canada was behind them; that there 
was as much courage at home as in the field. 

My boys were not unduly depressed nor cast 
down, even though the German artillery was now 
increasing in savagery and taking more deadly toll 
than had been the case in Pollegon Wood. The 
Pats saw to it that they kept their spirits up. 

On a sunny day two of them were partaking of 
their rations in the trench. I need hardly remind 
you that the soldier eating army rations Is emphati- 
cally leading the simple life. 

The Huns were maintaining a disastrous artil- 



238 MOPPING UP! 

lery fire. Already in that trench a number of 
casualties had been tallied during the day. 

Said Tim, with a pleasantly ironic glance at the 
rude and restricted fare just now afforded by war's 
rather limited cuisine: 

" James," to a mythical and respectful waiter, 
" just bring me a cup of coffee and some whipped 
cream. Ah, yes, James, and I'll have two muffins, 
with plenty of butter. And hurry, James! I've 
an appointment with me tailor, you know." 

" Yes, James," chimed in Jake, " you can hurry 
right back to the kitchen with those muffins, you 
know, and bring me some that are better done. 
These are not quite brunette enough to suit me. 
How many times have I told you, James, that 
blond muffins are persona non grattaw with me?" 

The vicious bursting of a Hun shell, close at 
hand, interrupted their colloquy for a moment. So 
loud was it as almost to deafen them. After a 
moment Tim took up the conversation with James, 
the willing wraith, quite as if nothing had occurred. 

" James, when you have replaced those peroxide 
muffins with burnt-cork ones, you will immejitly 
'phone down to the Messiah Club and have them 
reserve me a man's-size table for seven lady guests 
for dinner to-night. I want venison ana squab. 
Oh, say, about four courses ought to hold us; it's 
war times, you know, James." 

" Yes," chimed in Jake, his imagination warm- 
ing to the task, " and James, you ossified mummy 
of unrest, don't forget to put six bottles of Clicquot 
on ice. After that, call Younge 4-X-Y and ask — 



WAITING 239 

or I should say, ' awsk ' — for Evelyn. Call me 
when you get her. Slide, James, slide, or I'll " 

Just then he stopped, looking up. Amid the 
various noises of the bombardment there became 
audible a deepening thrum, as if a high-powered 
automobile were driving straight toward them across 
from the enemy trenches, and would in an instant 
thunder over the parapet and tumble upon them. 

For a moment endured the sound, reaching its 
maximum seemingly directly over their heads. 
Then the drone, which for this fleeting interval 
had dominated the barbaric orchestra of chaos, 
passed from their hearing. 

*' A ' Jack Johnson,' " briefly commented Jake. 
This was the Canadians' nickname for the big 15- 
or 17-inch shells which I have earlier described. 

" Go it, you kinked comedian ! " quoth Tim to 
the passed shell. " What the hell have you got to 
do with James, anyway? " 

" Hello ! " sirened Jake, In a dulcet voice, taking 
up the matter of his 'phone call where he had left 
it, " that you, Evelyn ? I'd know your voice In 
Paradise; um-mmm, peaches and cream! I got 
your 'phone call, sis'. Say, was your mother sore 
last night, when you got home? Well, tell her to 
remember she was young once. My God! Ev\ 
how they do forget that; hey, kid?" 

"Say, Evelyn!" cut in Tim, "this Is TImmy. 
Forget Jakie, will you? He ain't true to you; he's 
got more girls than he has money. I'll blow you to 
a good time, Ev'. What do you say to dine with 
me at the Allah Club this evening? Swell mob'll 



240 MOPPING UP! 

be there. Myself for one; Mr. Wells, the novelist; 
Woodrow Wilson, the pulchritudinous president; 
and Tom Sharkey 

" What's that, Evelyn? ' Who's Tom Sharkey? ' 
Don't you know? Why, I thought everyone knew 
Tom. He's a Spanish peanut farmer, but he speaks 
many languages. He learned 'em in the Fiji Islands. 
Ya-a-s ! He's awfully interesting and a bully good 
fellow. 

" Bring Winnie along with you. I'll send James 
up with the car to bring you both. Ah, what you 
hanging up for? Mad? Well, say, go to " 

Tim stopped suddenly. With Jake he reached 
toward a young fellow who had been standing next 
to them, laughing at their nonsense. 

The young fellow, without a sound, had crumpled 
in the bottom of the trench. A spreading blot of 
red showed upon his shirt over his left breast. 

In an instant the pair of comedians were bending 
anxiously over him. 

" Harry! " cried Tim, " are you hurt bad? " 

Harry did not answer. He did not know that he 
had been hurt. 

A rifle bullet had gone through his heart. 



CHAPTER XXV 
SOLDIERS— TWO 

ON May 5 the Patricias were removed back a 
mile to reserve trenches. There they re- 
mained in the trenches and dugouts that 
night and all day the 6th. Though they were now 
back of the front line there were many casualties, 
due to the enemy's constant fire. 

On the evening of the 7th, a thickening mist in 
the atmosphere brought a premonition of mighty 
events, a chmax of the affairs that had been shap- 
ing since the fatal gas attack upon the Turcos on 
April 21. 

Right here a word should be said of how, in that 
emergency, were refuted the frequent criticisms of 
the alleged slowness and red tape at British head- 
quarters. Such criticism, for instance, as once 
found expression in the words of Lloyd George him- 
self: "Always behind." 

At this juncture it was proved that, when an es- 
sential need existed for action to insure the success 
of British arms, John Bull was decidedly " Johnny- 
on-the-spot." 

The French, Turcos and Canadians were gassed 
on April 21. Immediately the gas was analyzed 
and the masks devised for the protection of the men. 
On April 27, six days after this foul attack, gas 

241 



242 MOPPING UP! 

masks, by the thousands, made in England, arrived 
on the Western Front ! 

Which workmanHke haste certainly indicated to 
the sneering Hun that the old lion's claws were still 
uncut ! 

So, when in the Second Battle of Ypres, on May 
8, the Hindenburg harbingers of hell again released 
their waves of gas, adding their " tear shells " as a 
tidbit, the British were ready for them. Of course, 
this was before Von Hindenburg was In charge of 
the Western Front for the Huns, but the spirit em- 
ployed was the same. 

My Pats, to say nothing of the thousands of other 
troops waiting in the trenches over the entire front 
for the smashing climax to the German attack that 
everybody knew would come, were puzzled on May 
7. The fire from the German batteries, hitherto 
brisk, arrived in desultory fashion. Shells were 
dropping here, there, all over, in a lazy way, seem- 
ingly without objective. One would burst near 
them, and the next, after an interval, would fall 
perhaps a mile away. 

It developed that the range finders were busy. 
Many new batteries had been moved up for the 
attack, and were merely preparing — practicing, as it 
were — for the deadly work that the next day was to 
Vv'itness. 

" One of the greatest battles that history ever 
recorded," to quote Sir John French's words after 
it had been waged, was about to burst forth in fury 
worse than primordial, because the primal savagery 
of it was abetted by all the devihsh science of de- 



SOLDIERS— TWO 243' 

struction upon which the Huns, intent upon " a place 
in the sun," had been working in the sneaking 
secrecy of immoral darkness for years. 

New orders came. The Pats marched to the 
front line trenches on the night of the 7th, at 8 : 30 
o'clock, with songs and laughter. Impatient for the 
test, there were seen among them none of the long 
faces and evidences of serious thoughts of the here- 
after that men who know nothing about it are fond 
of ascribing to soldiers in such a moment. 

Instead of such a depressing mien, the air was 
rent with the strains of such classics as the famous 
*' Louse Song." This deathless epic of the war, by 
the way, was composed — so far as its impassioned 
words went — by Corporal Cooper, of the Princess 
Patricias. It was first sung at a soldiers' concert 
given to Lieutenant Price January 19 in a barn loft 
200 yards from Westoutre. Here is one of its 
spasms: 

'^ Lousy, lousy; awfully, frightfully lousy! — 
/ want to go over the sea 
Where AUemand can't get me! — 
The Johnsons and whiz-bangs, they whistle and 

roar; 
I don't want to go to the trench any more; 

Oh, my! I don't want to die! — 
/ want to go home! " 

It was sung to a tune that one would have to hear 
to appreciate. It was Avorse even than the first 
line ! 



244 MOPPING UP! 

" Allemand " was a nickname for the horrific and 
hell-roaring Hun. 

Then, too, the boys sang the " Daddy Song " 
while they marched gaily to the trenches — and in 
so many cases, had they known it, to their graves. 
To the thundering obligato of the guns, sphtting the 
silence of the night, they sang it; sang on a spring 
night that nature had touched with calm and that 
man was filling with horrors. 

The " Daddy Song " contained in its finale a 
slamming innuendo at " daddy " that was about as 
subtle as the thrust from a falling load of bricks. 
It was sung, unblushingly and with ferocious joy, as 
follows : 

'^ Where does daddy go when he goes out? 

He goes out; he goes out? 
Does lie call at the music hall? 

Or go to see a picture show? 
PFhere does daddy go when he goes out? 

Nobody knows or cares! 
Mother, beware; mother, take care; 

It must be nice where daddy goes! 
Many brave hearts are asleep in bed, 

So beware, beware! " 

As for the tune — but who ever discovered what 
the tune was? Keeping on the key is the last thing 
a fighting boy in khaki does. When an average 
quartette, singing the chorus of a ditty dealing with 
the green fields of somewhere-or-other strikes one of 
those barber shop chords, and the tenor yells to 



SOLDIERS— TWO 245 

"Hold it!" everybody within hearing distance 
runs ! 

So, roaring and bawling and shouting their songs 
that either a classical music lover or a highbrow, 
not to mention a cardboard moralist, had doubtless 
not approved at all, the Patricias, the Canadian regi- 
ment that held the pick of the world's fighting men, 
marched on through the shot-rent night to their test 
by fire. 

The enemy's fire subsided even while the Pats 
advanced. By the time they reached the front line 
trenches the night had grown unusually quiet. 

It was a quiet that was ominous. Every man jack 
in the battalion knew that the old adage was again 
to be verified: " A calm before a storm." 

About five or six o'clock of the morning of ctie 
memorable 8th of May came the change. In an 
instant the brooding hush was broken by a thunder- 
ous avalanche of sound, tumbling through the dewy 
air of the morning, roaring upward to the heavens. 

At a concerted Instant had been loosed the heav- 
iest bombardment thus far of the war. 

The Patricias, crouching in their trenches, to- 
gether with the thousands of their comrades, de- 
fending Ypres, were at first shocked, stunned, shaken 
to the core by the bellowing fury of the guns. 

Bewildered, they crouched there, wondering at 
this might of artillery unloosed; such bolts of Jove, 
mad with the lust to destroy, as the world had never 
seen. 

On all sides of them were falling their comrades, 
sacrifices to hate before ever a Hun had left his 



246 MOPPING UP! 

trenches to dash, massed with his fellows, across 
No Man's Land to the British trenches. 

Bewildered, numbed, while their senses feebly 
questioned their vision, crouched those who contin- 
ued to live beneath this hail. They watched such a 
shower of molten death as had remained for civi- 
lization, which had convened so shortly before in 
world-peace parley at The Hague, to witness. 

Over an area of about a mile wide came roaring 
and whistling thousands of shells. Such a pall of 
dust and smoke wreathed over the field that no ob- 
jects were visible at a distance of over a hundred 
yards from any angle to the men in the British 
trenches. 

These oncoming shells centered from so many 
angles on the heavily reinforced German line that 
often two of them would strike together in midair 
before reaching the bombarded trenches. When 
this occurred there would come a deafening concus- 
sion that would set the eardrums to ringing for many 
seconds afterward; for the moment mercifully closed 
to sound other than a dull, distant murmuring, in 
the depths of the stunned brain. 

At such moments it would seem to the man in the 
trench, waiting and enduring, as if Nature herself 
were trying to close his ears for his protection. 

Then the torpor would pass in a renewed sense of 
hearing; a painful sense, preternaturally sharpened. 
Would well again the roar, as if a thousand thun- 
derbolts were mingling their wrath a few feet over 
the man's head. 

Again, the dissonance of a furious " whoof " — ■ 



SOLDIERS— TWO 247 

and the soil opening in craters before the horrified 
gaz,e, as if the mouths of the earth were opening 
hungrily to swallow the warring human atoms who 
sprang from it, and whom it had sustained. 

Thus, through minutes of waiting that were as 
hours, while before the dilated eyes of the men there 
changed the face of the world. 

It was such an upheaval as must occur when, 
through a convulsion of nature, new lands, vom- 
ited from the deeps, are thrown upward above 
raging waters. 

The terrain changed continually, like the scenery 
of a swiftly moving film. The effect after a time, 
upon the consciousness was grisly. For the mind 
refused to grasp the terrific significance of what the 
eyes revealed. 

It was all too horrible for the mentality to dwell 
upon. Here, among these reverberating and up- 
roarious surroundings, was applied one of war's 
sternest tests. 

Was there a weakness, a lack of balance and co- 
ordination between the nerves and the brain? Here, 
in such diabolical infernos, did such poor devils fall 
victims to the chaos known as " shell shock." Only 
one man among the Pats so suffered that day. The 
consciousness wavered and shattered before this 
spectacle of visible death; swooping, waiting, thun- 
dering. 

Surely, here was applied the acid test. The prin- 
ciple of " the survival of the fittest " applied to the 
shuddering brain as well as to the body of blood 
and bone. 



248 MOPPING UP I 

Here, against the sight of livid death, and witH 
the waves of black fear beating like billows against 
the soul, only one power could prevail. And that 
was the power of will. 

So the stronger minds closed themselves, in these 
hours of hell, to all else than one consideration. 
And this was the consideration that makes possible 
a victory in a battle of blood or a battle of life. 

They remembered only that there was a fight on. 
And they held to that thought alone ! 

If it were possible, the din increased. Because 
of the smoke it was dim roundabout, as if the veil 
of twilight were o'erspreading the sky. If a 
Patricia wished to speak to his neighbor, though 
their elbows touched in the trench, he was forced to 
place his lips at the eardrum and bawl with all the 
power in his lungs. Even then, the man listening 
would catch the sound faintly in a thin shriek, as if 
it were borne by the wind from a great distance. 

Tumbled and roared and warred over their heads 
swirling Niagaras of noise. Bellowed the steel 
spawn of Krupp's, seeking to blast the road to 
Calais. 

Now to the men, desperately waiting, came a 
nerve-probing phenomenon. 

Out of the crashing wrack, that was as of crags 
tumbling into moaning seas, it came, this mysterious 
note; this shred of imagined sound that dominated 
all that uproar. Stealthily, furtively, sneeringly, as 
if the lips of the god Mars himself had whispered it 
from his lookout in illimitable space, came the words 
of warning, of menace, to the ear of the brain: 



SOLDIERS— TWO 249 

" They're coming! " 

Now, amid the wall of the shells, the whine of 
projectiles rising in crescendo, the thrumming of 
monsters coursing the heavens, the booming groan 
of death, it came again, the warning, but from an- 
other source. It was shrieked now; a faint, thread- 
like shriek as if a voice — or perhaps the echo of 
many voices — cried from another world. Again 
seemed to volley the words: 

" They're coming! " 

Piercing paralyzing dissonance of incredible 
volume, came the words, pitched in timbre that over- 
rode this riot; a clear, faint, dominant call. It 
drifted by the front line trench where had been 
stationed Nos. i and 2 Companies of the Patricias, 
now a welter of dead and wounded. It came to the 
support trenches wherein crouched the members of 
Nos. 3 and 4 Companies, fighting like mad. 

It was as if the phantoms of gallant dead who had 
fought for truth in ages of world battling had 
shouted the warning from No Man's Land of the 
beyond, mingling their voices in this faint far cry 
of warning, of anticipation, of questioning. As 
if the glorious dead inquired of the beleaguered 
living : 

"Will you hold?'' 

I have said that the ghostly words drifted by 
the front line trench to the consciousness of the men 
in the supports. It was so. The front line trenth 
had been wholly demolished by the shell fire. Where 
it had been was filled with dead and wounded men. 
Such as it was, it lay ready for Hun occupancy — if 



250 MOPPING UP! 

the Germans could cross No Man's Land when came 
their order to charge. 

Every Patricia gun, and every gunner left to use 
one, had worked to the last. Time after time the 
machine guns had been buried under showers of dirt 
and debris. Time after time the men had dug them 
out and set them showering bullets again toward the 
German trenches. 

Gradually, gun after gun was put permanently out 
of commission. The gunners died, or fell writhing 
at their posts, many times dropping in the open 
where a bursting shell had torn the parapet clean 
away. 

Broken down and blown in by high-explosive 
heavy howitzer shells, enfiladed by shrapnel and 
Maxim fire, where the front trench had been showed 
now only a broken and uneven hollow. It was 
strewn with bodies. Some moved in ghastly suffer- 
ing. More were still. 

The support trenches, where repaired — to con- 
tinue fighting — the few survivors from the front line, 
many with wounds, after their position became un- 
tenable, also suffered severely. But being farther 
back, the destruction was not so savage — and the 
men in the supports were not destined to be dis- 
lodged. Whipping their rifle bullets over the para- 
pet, with deadly marksmanship for which they were 
famed, for them was to be reserved the final triumph 
of the day. 

The bombardment from the German batteries had 
lasted for four hours. 

The Patricias could tell from the flashes of their 



SOLDIERS— TWO 251 

rifles and the recoil that the pieces were working. 
But, in the din, they could not hear the explosions 
of their own guns at their shoulders ! 

It was ten o'clock of the morning. Again, pierc- 
ing the inferno, sounded that ghostly voice: 

" They're coming! " 

At last! 

Dimly through the smoke clouds the Patricias in 
the support trenches saw the gray-clad figures of 
the Huns springing out from behind hedge fences, 
perhaps two hundred yards away. They came run- 
ning across No Man's Land in skirmish formation. 
Their bayonets were fixed, but the deadly work of 
the Patricias' rifle fire had apparently caused them 
to change their usual method of mass attack. 

They never used the bayonets ; not that day. 

Unreal they looked and ghostly, appearing in the 
rolling smoke and sulphuric fumes like emissaries 
from the pit itself. Some of them, in front, were 
now near enough to be revealed to the vision of the 
foremost Patricias in ludicrous guise. Their eyes 
were glaring; their mouths were open, showing that 
they were yelling like bloodthirsty madmen in the 
din; they bent low and leaped like apes along the 
ground. 

They bounded toward the remnants of the front 
line trench, only to drop in waves. 

Even had they been destined to occupy it In force, 
It would have been a hollow victory. For now, of 
Its defenders remained not an able man. Dead and 
wounded were now its only tenants. 

Every vestige of anything above the ground had 



252 MOPPING UP! 

been swept away. Even the mounds of earth, left 
after the earher stages of the bombardment, had 
been blown to atoms. 

But behind were the support trenches, from sev- 
enty-five to a hundred yards back. And from them 
spat death at the oncoming waves of Germans. 

Beneath that terrible concerted rifle fire, from 
the picked dead shots of many nations, the gray line 
wavered, broke and retreated In disorder when still 
fifty yards from the remnants of the front line 
trench. 

The repulse was by rifle fire alone. The machine 
guns, and the batteries behind the Pats, had all been 
put out of commission. 

A few of the Huns reached the broken trench. 
They did not do it by traveling the remaining dis- 
tance across the open. They crawled there, on their 
bellies, through craters and shell holes. They 
sought a vantage ground to shoot at the support 
trenches. But most of them died there. 

Ensued assault after assault on the support 
trenches, for now the Huns knew where the trouble 
was coming from. 

The attention of their machine guns and batteries 
was diverted to the support trenches. Sallied across 
No Man's Land repeated waves of gray-clad in- 
fantry, with fixed bayonets, only to break and run 
back. They never reached the support trenches, 
though they attacked time and again as the hours 
wore on. 

Gas and tear shells were now released to overcome 
the regiment that the " might " of the " supermen " 



SOLDIERS— TWO 253 

could not legitimately subdue. Thanks to the masks 
that John Bull had been so prompt in dispensing, 
after the first attack, the attempt was futile. How- 
ever, some of the men, who were not prompt 
enough in adjusting their masks, suffered for it; par- 
ticularly through the tear shells, as it happened on 
this occasion. These shells, upon bursting, would 
bring a sharp pain to the eyes, and immediately 
afterward the vision would become seriously ob- 
scured and tears would rain down the cheeks, mak- 
ing it impossible for the soldier to shoot. 

The artillery was raising havoc with the defenders 
of the support trenches. It was at this point that 
the Huns were centering their effort to break 
through into Ypres. After Ypres; Calais; the 
domination of the Channel; the investing of Eng- 
land; finally, Canada, the United States, the world. 

The Huns had first to take those support trenches. 
It was a matter of a few yards to the support 
trenches. Ypres lay about a mile beyond. 

Those support trenches constituted the particular 
stone wall against which the Huns dashed their 
heads in vain in that decisive phase of the war. 

It didn't look much like a stone wall; this ditch, 
lined with fighters in strange gas masks, with men 
toppling on every side as shells, shrapnel and 
machine gun bullets rained into it. But there they 
crouched, those who remained; firing like auto- 
matons; some swearing, some silent, but every man 
intent on his job. 

His job was to wound or kill — preferably to kill 
— every Hun he could wing in those waves of in- 



254 MOPPING UP! 

fantry that came successively surging across No 
Man's Land, only to falter, turn and hurry back. 

The job was done in a workmanlike manner. No 
Man's Land was thickly carpeted with gray, pre- 
senting a weird appearance through the smoke veils 
of many colors that billowed and wreathed above 
the field. 

The intensity of the Hun bombardment is indi- 
cated by the fact that, of the hedge fence under 
which the support trench was located, not a sliver 
was left after the battle ! 

How was it possible for a handful of infantry, 
with rifle fire alone, to repulse infantry attacks 
backed by artillery fire in such frightful profu- 
sion? 

If you had seen my good friend, Sergeant Christie, 
at work that memorable morning and afternoon, you 
would readily understand the seeming miracle. 

Sergeant Christie — to my mind the greatest 
fighter among the Pats, which contained so many 
fighters, — was the famous Canadian bear killer, 
guide and hunter. He stood six feet tall, weighed 
1 80 pounds of bone and muscle and was one of those 
blond fellows with steady, keen blue eyes. He 
hailed from British Columbia. 

Christie's job that day was to kill Germans — and 
it was all in the day's work. Moreover, if every 
man in the world liked his job as well as Christie 
did that one, there would be no grouches left to 
discourage the sunshine. 

At last accounts he was still on the job, and if he 
had been in the habit of cutting notches for the Hun 



SOLDIERS— TWO 255 

mortality he created, he would have needed an 
Indian totem pole to preserve the full record. 

Hour after hour Christie maintained his position, 
firing like an automaton. He set a pace that his 
comrades couldn't keep up with. He was with the 
snipers, and throughout the battle he kept two men 
busy loading rifles for him, while the Germans fell 
like flies! 

There you have the whole story of the Pats' vic- 
tory that day, especially when you recall that the 
regiment had many other men who were as sure 
shots as Christie, — men like Foster, Nelson and 
McDonald. There were others; too numerous to 
mention. 

One Christie Is worth about fifty Heinies, which 
is why the Kaiser's back is going to be broken in this 
war. The deluded Fatherland, in its colossal vanity, 
selected der place and " Der Tag," but it hasn't got 
der men ! 

But the day was to prove that of the Patricias' 
supreme sacrifice. And among the men who an- 
swered roll call in " the far country " with the ensu- 
ing calm was my Fred. 

My Fred, of the Soldiers Three who had struck 
hands in the forest that summer day at Nighthawk 
Lake, only a few short months before 1 Whose 
voice had sounded with the two others'; pledging 
grimly in the voice of Canada : 

"We're on!" 

First, Rob, the poet, had gone, while he visioned 
Canada of the snows, the land he loved. Now 
Fred, the nature lover, the pathfinder, the adven- 



256 MOPPING UP! 

turer; sunny, bonny, friendly Fred, his soul filled 
with the zest for life ! 

And for him had been reserved the most terrible 
of war's tragic fates: 

" Missing." 

When is known to the loved ones the final resting 
place of a soldier, in that fact is a certain sad re- 
assurance. The mound is marked; it is known; it 
is remembered. The living may plant blooms of 
memory thereon, and water them with their tears. 

But — " missing " ! To be here; then to be gone; 
nobody knows where ! 

It happened in the thick of the maelstrom of the 
afternoon. Fred, who had fought the Germans to 
a standstill from cover to cover, was last seen with 
another man shooting from a peephole and leveling 
Germans with every shot, for Fred never missed. 
Thereafter, no survivor of the battalion could re- 
member seeing him. They knew only that when 
night came, and they were finally relieved, he was 
not with them, nor did he answer at another earthly 
roll call. 

His friends asked themselves many questions. 

" Was he perchance torn to pieces by a stray 
shell? It may be! But it is more likely that he 
ventured into a communication trench and sought 
No Man's Land ' on his own.' His restless spirit 
was always seeking some such hazard. 

" He may have seen a German hiding in a crater 
or shell hole, firing at the Patricias. He may have 
gone there to try conclusions with him. He may 
have been killed, either in combat or by a German 



SOLDIERS— TWO 257 

shell, and been buried later In an unmarked grave 
by the enemy." 

None of his friends knew of the manner of his 
fate. But, in my shelter in the rear of the lines, I 
knew that he was dead, and moaned while the de- 
spair of these black days gripped my spirit afresh. 

It had been Soldiers Three. Now Soldiers Two 
had found eternal bivouac. 



CHAPTER XXVI 
ECHOES 

TOWARD evening of that awful day of May 
8 my Patricias — or the remnant of them — 
were in desperate plight, but hung on. They 
fought as only men of their breed can fight. 

Colonel Buller sustained a frightful wound, los- 
ing an eye. Major Gait was also severely wounded. 
Both men remained on duty. 

During the afternoon a message was sent from 
headquarters asking " how long the Patricias could 
hold out." It came to Major Gait, who had 
already received his wound. 

He sent this reply: 

" Till the last gun is fired and the last man is 
gone." 

No other messages were sent — or received. 

There were not more than two or three batteries 
supporting the Pats. They were all removed as 
factors, by the enemy fire, during the first hour of 
the bombardment. 

The sadly needed relief come near dawn of the 
next day. Arrived the Third K.R.R.'s to take over 
the Patricias' trenches. 

The German attack, the fiercest thus far recorded 
by history, had spent its force. The regiment of 

258 



ECHOES 259 

Patricias, undergoing an epochal hammering, had 
held the Huns outside the support trenches. 

And right there the Hun was held for two years ! 
Finally to retire sullenly in " strategic retreat." 

The Second Battle of Ypres was pivotal. The 
Germans had the men, the machinery, the initiative. 
Since then, it has become evident that they then 
possessed the power to have pushed on to Calais, 
had they continued to have hurled the full measure 
of their strength into the effort. For then the Allies 
were nowhere near so strong, in men, machinery and 
munitions, as they are now. Moreover, the Huns 
lacked the big essential of the fighting man, the 
sporting spirit to take a chance. 

Just one thing impelled the Huns to relax their 
efforts on the road to Calais after the Third Battle 
of Ypres, which was soon to follow. It was too 
costly. And Russia, then a power to be reckoned 
with, was threatening the east. The overrated star 
of Von Hindenburg was to rise there; Destiny, with 
her tongue in her cheek, was shaping the plan for a 
wooden statue which idolatrous Germans were to 
drive full of nails of precious metals — and pay 
stiffly for that precious privilege. A Von Hinden- 
burg was to be " made " through the treachery of 
complacent Russian generals who could be bribed. 

The Hun realized that he could lash his hordes 
forward on the road to Calais; inch by inch; yard 
by yard; mile by mile. He could have done it. 
But he underestimated his attrition. His losses thus 
far in the fighting, culminating in the Second Battle 
of Ypres, and destined to grow with the Third, 



26o MOPPING UP! 

had been stupendous. As the attacking force, he 
paid a heavier penalty in casualties than did the 
defenders. 

Against his infantry attacks, supported by a stun- 
ning tempest of artillery, the rifle fire poured into 
his gray-clad masses did such terrible execution that 
he faltered on May 8. Afterward he sullenly lay 
down, and then gave his major attention to the 
Eastern Front. In his estimation Russia afforded 
an easier nut to crack! 

Fortune eventually favored him, but not before 
the Slavs had fought gallantly against the odds of 
treachery in their own camps, and amazed the men 
who, by this time, had the self-styled prefix of 
" super " pretty nearly knocked off by the battlers 
of every nation engaged against them. 

Man for man, what nation among all these con- 
tending against Germany, has failed to surpass her 
in sportsmanlike fighting? Two elements have 
worked for Germany; or make it one: organized 
ruthlessness. Could the Allies have achieved the 
co-ordination the Kaiser's crowd has shown, the 
" inner ring " would have been smashed before now. 
But, at the present writing, the Allies seem to be 
learning. 

Thus far, the Kulturhounds had been sniflling, 
trying to find a weak place in the line of the Western 
Front. After the battles of Ypres their disap- 
pointed gaze turned eastward. 

The Western Front has decided dynasties. It 
established that of the Hohenzollerns, through the 
victories there of Frederick the Great. It first 



ECHOES 261 

established Napoleon; then, after he had lost his 
way in Russia, as Germany seems now likely to do, 
it broke him. It will break Wilhelm. Like the 
little ex-Czarovitch, son of Mr. Romanoff of 
Siberia, the Crown Prince of Prussia will weep be- 
cause he will never be an Emperor. 

All these issues were bound up in the capital 
target shooting, at moving targets, of the Princess 
Patricias on that spring day in front of Ypres 1 
The Patricias had blocked the road and saved the 
day. 

But what a terrible penalty had been exacted from 
them by the god of war ! 

But even while paying it, they had managed to 
prevail, against the most tremendous odds, by super- 
human efforts. 

For instance, there came the time, late in the 
afternoon, when it seemed that the Huns were des- 
tined, after all the sacrifices, to prevail. A number 
of them had gained temporary lodgment in the rem- 
nants of the front line trench. From that post they 
were firing at the support trenches. 

They had reached there only for one reason, and 
that a grave one to the defenders. The Patricias 
were almost out of shells for their rifles ! 

It was then that Major McAdam, though 
wounde;d in an arm and shoulder, saved the situa- 
tion. Acting upon a swift inspiration, he went here 
and there among the dead bodies of the Patricias 
which strewed the narrow floor of the trench and 
secured a bandolier here, an equipment there. He 
rushed to the soldiers who were out of ammunition 



262 MOPPING UP! 

and distributed the scanty supply with his own hand. 

Then the Pats fired with especial care. They 
waited till they had a full bead on each Hun figure. 
They did not miss. 

In the evening came a full supply of ammunition. 
Shortly afterward the remnant of the front line 
trench was wholly rid of Huns. Most of them 
were dead. A few contrived to get back across No 
Man's Land in the gathering darkness. 

One despairs of even touching upon all the ele- 
ments of human nature that entered into that great 
battle. But there should be mentioned one, of 
peculiar inspiration. 

It was the revealment of the bond that in this 
fight united all the elements of Canada against the 
common foe; a bond like that which is to-day simi- 
larly uniting elements in the United States, in the 
same exigency. 

No survivor of that storied remnant of Patricias 
will forget how, throughout that afternoon, Lieu- 
tenant Papineau, then the only unwounded officer 
of the battalion, rushed up and down the trench, 
rallying the men, encouraging them, rendering every 
aid in the supreme and successful effort to hold the 
Germans. 

Papineau was a descendant of the famous " fight- 
ing Papineau " family, originally foes of the " Union 
Jack " and active participants in the Riel Rebellion. 

But in the world's war was presented a situation 
like that of the North and South of the United 
States, once embattled, now reconciled and fighting 
together against the modern Attila. 



ECHOES 263 

No man fought more bravely before Ypres on 
May 8, to repel the invader, than did Lieutenant 
Papineau. There was no more inspiring picture 
presented of a reunited Canada than these efforts 
of the son of a house that had once been against 
the flag. 

Papineau established a splendid record that mo- 
mentous day, and he worthily followed it in a bril- 
liant military career on the Western Front. For 
gallantry he was successively promoted till made a 
major, and was finally killed in action, fighting for 
the Canada he loved. 

The toll taken of the Pats on May 8 was terrific. 

At the roll call on the night of May 7, No. 4 
Company, which held the support trenches, num- 
bered 155 men. When relieved, all that remained 
were 47 N.C.O.'s and privates. There were no 
officers. In fact, there were but two officers of the 
entire battalion unhurt. 

No. 3 Company, which also held support trenches, 
came out with 49 men out of about the same orig- 
inal number. 

The ill-fated Nos. i and 2 Companies had been 
stationed in the front line trench, where the enemy's 
fire was so terribly destructive in the first hour of 
bombardment. No. i Company had only 15 effec- 
tives and No. 2 had but 22 ! 

This small remnant had no rifles nor bullets left. 
If they had they would have died fighting. 

These figures are eloquent of the havoc created 
in this racked battalion, which previous to the battle 
numbered nearly 700 effectives. The attrition is 



264 MOPPING UP! 

also eloquent of the high risks then prevalent on the 
Western Front, before was organized the splendid 
artillery system of the Allies to protect the men. 
Consider that, when the Princess Pats crossed to 
France in December, the battalion contained well 
over a thousand men ! After this they had received 
several drafts, amounting to about 800 men. 

After the Second Battle of Ypres, 133 men and 
a few stretcher bearers were all that were left out 
of as fine a body of fighting men as ever donned 
uniforms. 

Grim figures, these. Figures which on that 
memorable day, when their valor brought the Huns' 
plans to naught, placed the name of the Princess 
Patricia Canadian Light Infantry in the highest of 
proved instances of sacrifice and lion spirit in the 
annals of the world's war. 

Just this handful of men had interposed between 
the Germans' boast of " Ypres in three days " and 
the realization of the dream ! " Ypres in three 
days; Calais in a fortnight." That was the pro- 
gramme which came to grief right there. 

Had the Huns gained those support trenches, they 
might as well have walked into Ypres. This obser- 
vation is made advisedly. For they did not gain the 
support trenches. 

The full story of that magnificent stand will never, 
be told. The men fought like Bengal tigers, never 
flinching an inch during the entire bombardment and 
ensuing infantry rushes. 

Not one man, or a few men, but all the men; men 
o' the line and officers, wounded and dying, one and 



ECHOES 265 

all showed the same indomitable courage and spirit. 
The losses among the N.C.O.'s alone were terrific. 
Of the sergeants and corporals only six remained. 

The decimated battalion was removed to Ypres 
and remained there recuperating for several days. 
Already echoes of that splendid stand were in cir- 
culation through the army; echoes that will never 
die. For the inspiration of truest heroism is 
imperishable. 

After this they were comfortably settled in a field 
some five miles farther back. There was a general 
ofiicial disposition to allow this hard-worked regi- 
ment — what was left of it — a brief rest from the 
rigors to which the men had grown accustomed. 

On May 14 the battalion received orders to pro- 
ceed to support trenches, where they enjoyed them- 
selves as enjoyment goes on a battlefield. That 
they should be depressed by the loss of so many of 
their comrades was inevitable. But they were sus- 
tained by the spirit expressed in that grand phrase 
of the British army; the phrase that expresses the 
most worth-while requirement of life; to "carry 
on." And they knew that is what their comrades 
who were gone would have them do. 

They remained in the support trenches till May 
18. The next day they were sent to billets on a 
farm. They received a visit from Sir John French 
on the 20th, who inspected the brigade. 

He made a speech, informing the men that Italy 
was that day declaring war on the side of the Allies. 
He deplored the losses before Ypres of the Patricias 
and the Soth Brigade. He praised their great work 



266 MOPPING UP! 

in the trenches. He said that the memory of their 
exploits would endure for all time. 

In speaking to the English regiments he said that 
their badges showed no honors of the past, glorious 
as they were, that exceeded those won that day. 

The Patricias enjoyed some beautiful days, 
basked in the sun and gratefully welcomed oppor- 
tunities afforded for much needed baths. 

On May 24 they were again ordered back to the 
firing line. The fighting lasted all night, with very 
heavy gun fire, but the Pats only did reserve duty at 
that time. They took their lunch on the road and 
heard many wild rumors regarding why they were 
there. 

They soon heard that the Germans had managed 
to take another trench, and that the remnant of the 
" Stone Wall Brigade " was going to support a 
counter-attack to retake it. Then they heard that 
the British had retaken the trench, and captured 
other German trenches with it. 

After remaining on the road in front of the firing 
line all night, with shells and bullets crashing and 
spattering everywhere amid an awful din, the Pats 
were ordered to retire to support trenches and dug- 
outs. They were then told that there was not going 
to be an attack; that it was " a false alarm." 

The Patricias had just received recruits of some 
fifteen new officers, to replace those killed and 
wounded before Ypres, and a small number of vol- 
unteer recruit privates. This was the first experi- 
ence in actual warfare for both officers and men, but 
it was marvelous to note how quickly the attitude of 



ECHOES 267 

the cool fighting veterans of the command steadied 
these newcomers. The effect was especially notice- 
able upon their new superior officers. 

It didn't take long. For those Canadians had 
come there to iight, and they were looking for it 
that night. It was just a matter of leading them 
to the fracas. They had joined for that purpose; 
they wanted to come to grips with the enemy, just as 
the first Pats had done these past weary months. 

From where they were they could see nothing, 
and there is nothing which tries the nerves so much 
as to be fired at in the open without being able to 
see the enemy to retaliate. This was the plight of 
these new officers and recruits of the Pats. They 
bore themselves well under it; a little nervous, only 
they hated to have Heinie enjoying all the fun ! 

Heavy winds and very cold weather for this 
season of the year now prevailed. It was poor 
weather for crops. But what did the Patricias care 
for crops, even though some of them had been inter- 
ested in such matters at home? They were soldiers 
now, engaged in a struggle of life and death. 

They spent the 27th and 28th of May trying 
to make themselves as comfortable as circumstance 
would permit. Here they proved the power of 
philosophy. Most of them told themselves firmly 
that they were comfortable — whereupon they were! 

They were now in Ypres, the latest order having 
taken them there. Notwithstanding the reduced 
size of the battalion they had for the past few days 
had their usual work to perform. They had long, 
tiresome marches in the dark, loaded down with 



268 MOPPING UP! 

ammunition, equipment and rations. The gait was 
slow with the usual jerky stops. 

Often these abrupt stops would be accompanied 
by the rifle of a man in front colliding with the head 
of the man behind, or perhaps in the chest. Maybe, 
in such case, the weapon would even cut the face of 
the rear man. At such moments mental words of 
sulphur, with no molasses, would flit through the 
brain of the man assailed. 

The men in khaki are nothing if not philosophical. 
But these marches amid necessary quiet in the dark, 
with their short spurts and jerky stops, with the 
thuds of rifles colliding with the anatomy of the man 
behind, are hard on the temper. A soldier's 
troubles are not wholly confined to the trenches ! 

" Hole to the right," or " Hole to the left," is 
passed along the line. Then is passed the word, 
" No talking! " even though a rifle has just caught 
you in the face. A little more jerky progress and a 
stop; this repeated time and again; the programme 
going from dark till lo or ii p.m. Then the mud 
of the trenches; a hole here; a bridge there. 

Then — most grievous injury of all! — back comes 
the word along the hne: " No smoking! " 

Whereupon, deeply disgusted with army life, the 
boy his mother raised to be a soldier, registers a 
silent protest, deep in his soul. It takes this form 
against imperious discipline that will even bar fags, 
though the precaution be necessary: 

"Aw, go to hell!" 

I pass to a scene in Ypres on May 26. 

A section of one of the companies was passing 



ECHOES 269 

through the ruined city. They chanced upon the 
body of a dead Irish soldier lying In the street. He 
had belonged to the Fifth Lancers. His number 
was 4281. 

The Pats held a brief council. They decided to 
bury the soldier where he fell. 

They procured a shovel and pick and dug a grave 
there. Perhaps two-and-a-half feet of earth and 
stone covered the body, which they wrapped in a 
blanket. 

" Say the Lord's Prayer, Jack," was suggested by 
Pipe Major Colvill. He complied, while a half- 
dozen Canadian privates waited about the rude 
mound with bared heads. 

Could the dead man's friends in Ireland have 
witnessed this rite performed by brothers from 
across the sea, it would have accomplished more 
toward cementing the bond between the peoples of 
the British Empire than would all the propaganda 
of a hundred years! 



CHAPTER XXVII 
SOLDIERS— THREE? 

ON May 28 General Allensby visited the tem- 
porary headquarters of the battalion. He 
was accompanied by General Snow and a 
few other staff officers. 

The effect of their visit was soon felt. The bat- 
talion was ordered to pack, all blankets and equip- 
ment and to prepare for a short march. 

At 3 P.M. the order was carried out. All blankets 
were wrapped in rolls of ten and piled on transport 
wagons. The battalion, now of small numbers, was 
marched about six miles to tents already erected and 
quite comfortable. 

Then, with extra suddenness this time, came an- 
other order, and by the ist of June my Pats found 
themselves marching away from the Ypres salient, 
in which they had won enduring laurels. 

For the first time since arriving on the fighting 
front they were now in the French portion of Bel- 
gium, and frankly, they appreciated the transfer to 
the Armentieres salient. 

In reaching the new stand the P.P.C.L.I.'s passed 
through Renninghurst, Dranoute, Loare, Bailleul, 
Steenwerck and other small towns. The march 
took two days and covered some twenty-five miles. 

The difference from the vicinity they had left was 

270 



SOLDIERS— THREE? 271 

marked. The country was beautiful, caressed by 
the breath and smile of approaching summer. The 
farms were larger — and much cleaner than those 
upon which they had in recent months been quar- 
tered during rest periods. The farmers were much 
more prosperous. 

Also, they were French, and the Belgians suffered 
by contrast, in the estimation of the boys. The 
Belgians had always been surly, distant and un- 
friendly, but these French people were sociable and 
given to entertainment. 

This part of the line was very quiet, it appeared. 
It was reported to the Pats that a whole brigade 
had just occupied this trench for a week, and during 
that time it had suffered only four casualties. 

Whereupon the Pats, now only 250 strong, pro- 
ceeded, on taking over that trench, to boost the pro- 
portion of casualties, to be suffered by themselves ! 
Of course, however, they saw to it that plenty of 
reprisals were exacted. 

The Patricias succeeded immediately in their 
lively intention. During the first four days they 
suffered four casualties; one a day. This was cer- 
tainly doing better, from their standpoint, than the 
brigade which had preceded them 1 But it certainly 
fell far short of the pace to which they had been 
accustomed. For, even before the slaughter of 
May 8, the battalion's casualties had reached as 
high as forty a day. 

A word of explanation is required here, regard- 
ing the method of " Pat's Pets," whenever they 
reached new trenches. If those trenches had the 



272 MOPPING UP! 

reputation of being quiet ones, the situation always 
changed directly after the Pats entered them. 
Within a few days they were certain to become up- 
roarious. 

In fact, it was the same with the entire 27th 
Division, which was one of the most aggressive 
organizations that ever butted into the Western 
Front, looking for trouble — and finding it. Cana- 
dians and English alike; both were over there for 
no tea party, but to fight. And their idea of a fight 
was to fight all the time. 

This irritated the more stolid Fritz. He saw no 
reason why he should not be allowed to rest between 
fights, and dream of the Rhine, and sauerkraut, and 
beer, and the yard-and-a-half of German dog that 
he left behind him. 

However, the members of the 27th Division saw 
no reason why Fritz should be allowed to dream. 
They had a method of disturbing these excursions 
of fancy to a pretzeled Beulah Land. This method 
always produced, and speedily, glorious fighting all 
up and down the line. Witness the Pats' immediate 
jump of the casualty record, instanced above. But 
be sure that they inflicted more than they sustained! 

When the Pats, or any other unit of the 27th 
Division entered trenches that had been reported 
quiet — and they were always being sent to these, it 
was never long before there was noise unbounded, 
with the maddened Heinies keeping up their end. 

It was only at St. Eloi, in fact, that the Pats had 
entered trenches that were otherwise than quiet at 
the first. They seemed to like that first riot, and 



SOLDIERS— THREE ? 273 

thereafter they worked eagerly to produce imita- 
tions of St. Eloi. 

They started in at these new trenches in the same 
manner. Instead of taking things easy, the whole 
battalion set themselves to stinging, piquing, anger- 
ing Heinie Fritz. 

An incessant pecking with the rifles was kept up 
from the hour the Pats entered the trench. The 
atmosphere, which had been serene, was now rent 
with constant cracks. Whenever you caught sight 
of anything gray and moving, fire at it. That 
was the unwritten rule, and it was followed to the 
letter. 

The result was that, before nightfall, Fritzie At- 
tila Hun was frothing with rage and trying to get 
even. All up and down the lines of rival trenches, 
which at this point were several hundred yards 
apart, there was now a constant exchange of rifle 
shots. 

Most of the Canadians believed that you get all 
your hell right on earth. They had been receiving 
a lot of it lately, and they yearned to pass it on. 

Moreover, as will be seen shortly, the old adage 
" If you're looking for trouble you generally find it," 
still holds good ! 

i\.sk my boys ! 

The days passed by; pleasant days, drifting 
toward summer. On this sector, which had been 
quiet till the new troops came, considerable hell was 
now exchanged between balmy morns and dewy 
eves. 

The morning of June 6, 19 15, was especially 



274 MOPPING UP! 

lovely. Throughout the brush the birds were sing- 
ing. All about were fertile farms and buildings far 
more pretentious than those in the desolate portion 
of Flanders the Canucks had just left. 

It was a day for gods and men. One to inspire 
the well-doing with the inspiration to shoot, with 
renewed zeal, at Huns ! 

Which my Pats were doing. 

They were up at dawn, looking toward the Ger- 
man trenches, eight hundred yards away. Every 
peephole had its watchers. They were not looking 
at the sky, though it was tinged with the rosy blush 
of morn. 

The universal hope was that it would prove a 
busy day. To somewhat paraphrase the poet Long- 
fellow, when he dealt with the village blacksmith : 

"Something attempted: kill a Hun — .. 
And earn a night's repose! " 

The Pats' snipers had selected a spot in the rear 
of their trench, overlooking it by some twelve feet. 
The eminence, which afforded a fine view of the 
German line, was covered with brush in which the 
snipers were wont to secrete themselves. 

From this observation point a very alert watch 
was constantly maintained for German heads, or 
any other wooden obstruction that chanced to be 
moving around the Hun ditch. 

At daylight the lookout reported some men mov- 
ing on a hill behind the German lines, a thousand 
yards away. It was thought perhaps they consti- 
tuted a ration party, advancing to the German linejs. 



SOLDIERS— THREE ? 275 

Spoke Private Nelson, one of the best snipers in 
the battalion, to Private Pendy. 

" Jack, let's get out over here and try to cop one 
or two of those boys on their way back." 

So, with two well-oiled rifles and with two field 
glasses, the pair went back from the front trench 
to the snipers' elevation. 

They sprawled on their stomachs on the ground, 
feeling sure that they could not be seen. With the 
glasses at their eyes they lay there perhaps a half- 
hour while the sun still hid in the eastern sky. 
Nature was preparing to give the Western Front a 
perfect summer day. 

Their eyes strained through the glasses, point- 
ing at the hill, while they hoped for the return of 
that party. Still nothing could be seen. 

Finally a sharp crack sounded. A bullet landed 
near them. They remained quiet, shrouded by the 
high grass, their rifles lying close to their hands. 

In five seconds there came another crack, also 
close at hand. 

" Nelse," asked my Pendy, " do you think these 
are meant for us, or are they overshooting from the 
Heinie trenches? " 

" Oh, overshooting. Jack," answered Nelson. " I 
don't think they're meant for us. We were here all 
day yesterday and were all right. Nobody can see 
us here." 

Nothing more was said. Not more than three 
seconds passed, hardly a breath after Nelson's last 
word. Then : 

Bang! 



276 MOPPING UP! 

The sound was more than an ordinary crack. It 
was the signal that a bullet had torn into some ob- 
ject, close at hand. 

Remember, that bullet had whizzed from the 
muzzle of a rifle from 800 to 1,000 yards away. It 
was the third to lodge around the pair within a 
minute. 

Now it was to be learned that the shots had been 
intended for the two snipers, and that again the 
marvelous telescopic sight rifle of the Germans had 
made good. 

Nelson and Pendy still lay on their stomachs, 
each leaning on an elbow, field glasses at eyes turned 
toward the hill. 

With this especially loud crack, like the sound 
produced by the breaking of an electric light bulb, 
only louder and sharper. Nelson dropped his glass. 
His startled gaze turned. 

"Jack!" he cried. ''You're hit!" 

Pendy did not answer. He rose quickly and 
stepped down into the trench. 

Blood was spurting through a hole in the khaki 
over his breast. 

Comrades sprang toward him as Nelson yelled 
for assistance. The hands of veterans of the 
trenches have, through grim experience, grown 
swift and deft. In a flash they stripped away 
his coat and shirt and clutched for emergency 
bandages, which are always in the kit of the 
soldier. 

It was high time. From a wound in the right 
breast pulsing jets of blood were leaping, like minia- 



SOLDIERS— THREE ? 277 

ture intermittent fountains. These jets shot fully 
four inches from the skin before they wavered and 
fell earthward. 

The bullet had entered the right breast and passed 
through the body, emerging at the lower end of the 
shoulder blade and thence on through the cloth 
that covered it. There was only a slight hemor- 
rhage at the back, however. 

In passing, the bullet had cut a portion of the 
auxiliary artery and then coursed through the top 
of the lung. Also, for good measure, it went 
through the brachial plexus, producing an ultimate 
paralysis of the right arm that lasted for some time. 
In finally emerging, it went dangerously close to the 
spinal column, and then hustled on looking for 
another victim ! 

Certainly, the unknown sniper did a workmanlike 
job. From his standpoint, after such painstaking 
effort it is regrettable that the victim of that shot 
was not wholly annihilated, but still lives to inter- 
pret for me the story I would tell in words of my 
own if the Great Arbiter had given me the gift of 
speech! 

However, had it not been for the quick thought 
of Sniper Jim Foster, the job would have been prob- 
ably completed right then and there. 

As they stripped away his clothing, Jim noted the 
jets of blood, spurting as if a waiter hose pipe had 
been cut. In a flash he had thrust a finger into the 
wound. 

" Quick ! " he yelled. " The bandages ! " ^ 

Comrades of the trenches are rude and primitive 



278 MOPPING UP! 

in methods, perhaps, but when it comes to " first 
aid," they are there! 

Swiftly the bandages were applied and the hemor- 
rhage was stopped. Then the good boys and brave 
Corporal Maclntyre, of the stretchers, came rush- 
ing to extend aid. 

Pendy shook his head and started to walk toward 
the end of the trench, beyond which was the dressing 
station. 

A half-dozen comrades followed him, carrying 
the stretcher, imploring him to let them help him 
out of the trench. Then they would put him on the 
stretcher and carry him to the dressing station. 

He shook his head and walked on. He was too 
weak, too numbed with the shock, to talk. But he 
remembered that, if he could walk the half-mile to 
the end of the trench, they could then gain the open 
and be partly out of range of the German rifle fire. 

Otherwise, if they left the trench before they 
came to the end, they would be still within rifle 
range, and the snipers of the Huns would have 
another excellent chance. The trench was too nar- 
row to admit of his being carried through it on the 
stretcher. So there was nothing else to do than 
to walk. 

He reached the end of the trench. The others 
helped him out. They put him on the stretcher. 
He could not have walked any further. They car- 
ried him to the dressing station. 

The M.O., a bright, keen, capable young fellow, 
stripped off the clothing that the boys had gathered 
about him. He lay on the stretcher, bare to the 



SOLDIERS— THREE ? 279 

waist. The M.O. looked at the wound, swiftly at- 
tending it. Then he looked at my Pendy. 

"Man!" he said, "your life depends on your 
keeping absolutely quiet. You are not to move at 
all!" 

Pendy lay silent. The M.O. continued: 

"Remember! Absolutely quiet! If you move 
at all, the hemorrhage will likely start again and 
you will bleed to death in a few minutes." 

Again he shook his head. " I don't know how 
you ever got here? " he said. 

Dreaming it all, from my shelter far back of the 
front lines, I next saw my Pendy upon a cot. His 
face was white; his eyes closed; he did not stir. 

I woke, whining, tensed, shaking all over. The 
vision faded; the vision I knew for truth. 

Was it to be, after all, Soldiers Three in the 
fields of death? 



CHAPTER XXVIII 
"CARRY ON!" 

FROM this time on my active interest was 
transferred from the front. It was centered 
in the fate of the man who had been taken to 
the rear. It followed him back to England across 
the Channel; it remained with him through the 
weeks and months of his battle for life, the issue of 
which was at first dubious. It lay with him during 
his long and weary period of convalescence. 

My spirit turned sadly from its constant follow- 
ing of the Patricias, both in my waking and sleeping 
hours. The man I loved above all was no longer 
with them; never again would he battle in the 
trenches. His shattered arm would prevent that. 

But, aside from this, was the consideration of the 
breath of death, the breath which congealed my soul. 

Like Bob and Fred, the gallant pair of the Sol- 
diers Three, so many of my friends of the regiment 
had left this world forever! New faces had suc- 
ceeded most of those I had known and loved. 
Visioned with my weird power, these new faces were 
those of strangers. Had I met them in the flesh, 
they would not have known me. 

So dumbly, humbly, forlornly, I turned to my 
world, now peopled with the heroic wraiths of the 
past. Wraiths of the fields beyond, that seemed 
calling to my Pendragon to come ! 

280 



"CARRY ON!" 281 

So, before telling you the remainder of my tale, 
and of the further fortunes of Pendy and myself 
which ultimately brought us back to the Northland 
we both love so dearly, I will relate very briefly the 
subsequent history of the Patricias up to the time 
Colonel Builer was killed. 

It was a gallant history. The successors to those 
who had fallen in the spring campaign of 19 15, 
rallying around the few veterans who were left, 
nobly maintained the honor of Canada's premier 
regiment. 

They " carried on " ! 

The P.P.C.L.I.'s remained In the trenches at 
Armentieres for a week. Then they retired to 
houses in the rear of the trenches. 

While there they received reinforcements of 500 
McGill students. These were divided into three 
groups and they were fine athletic fellows. 

Ensued for a month the humdrum of trench life. 
Then the 27th Division received orders to march 
south. They entrained near Albert and proceeded 
by short comfortable marches through a beautiful 
farming country. They went to a place called Bray. 

They were relieved by French at Cappy and 
Exchesea. Here there were many marshes and 
chalk hills. Rations had to be brought up in barges 
on the Somme Canal. In this work the Canucks 
revealed the training of their native land. They 
handled scows, barges, and boats like deep-sea 
sailors. 

Here, too, the Canadians received their first 
trench mortars. These were used to throw large 



282 MOPPING UP! 

tins, filled with high explosives, into the German 
trenches. 

During this period the battalion had better times 
in the trenches than at any previous period since the 
arrival in France. 

After several months of this life the 27th Division 
received orders to proceed to Salonica. 

However, the Patricias did not accompany them 
there. On December 7, 19 15, the Pats, which regi- 
ment had been affiliated with the 80th Brigade of 
the 27th Division of the British Expeditionary 
Force, was formally transferred to the Canadian 
Contingent by the British military authorities. 

This was done to facihtate the reinforcing of the 
depleted ranks of the Pats from Canadian forces 
by volunteers at home, it being long before Canada 
resorted to conscription. 

It must be understood that the reason why the 
Princess Patricias were first detached from Cana- 
dian forces at the outbreak of the war was because 
it was a selected battalion composed of men who 
were trained fighters of different nationalities. 
They were the pick of the Anglo-Saxon race, and 
of other races throughout the world. The ranks 
were not filled exclusively by Canadians. For in- 
stance, there were 35 or 40 Americans. 

Besides these, there were several Boers from 
South Africa, some Australians, a few Russians, one 
Rumanian, two or three Germans, two Hollanders; 
some Swedes, English, Irish and Scotch; and last but 
not least, the grittiest bunch of Canucks that ever 
left Canada for a hell-roaring fight. 



"CARRY ONI" 283 

In all, there had been 1,200 men in that first 
splendid bunch that sailed from Canadian shores, 
and nearly all of them found death or grievous 
wounds. 

Besides these there had been three drafts, of 200, 
300 and 500 men respectively, up to May, 19 15. 

The general order transferring the Princess 
Patricias to the Canadian Contingent, issued by Sir 
John French, General Officer Commanding the 
British Expeditionary Force, contained a fine tribute 
to the Patricias. 

It read as follows : 

BATTALION DAILY ORDERS 
By Lieutenant Colonel Pelley 

7th December, 19 15. 
APPENDIX " A " 

The following extract from the Brigade Routine 
orders, nth Infantry Brigade, B.E.F. France, 
is herewith appended for information: — 

I. Transfer of P. P. C.L.I . 

On the departure of the Princess Patricia's Cana- 
dian Light Infantry, the G.O.C. takes this oppor- 
tunity of placing on record his keen appreciation of 
the splendid services rendered by this Battalion to 
the 80th Brigade. 

This Battalion joined this Brigade on its forma- 
tion at Winchester, in November, 19 14, and has 
remained with it ever since. 

The gallantry of the P.P.C.L.I. during the fight- 
ing of St. Eloi, and later during the second battle 
of Ypres, when the Battalion hung on to their 
trenches with unparalleled tenacity and lost over 75 



284 MOPPING UP! 

per cent of their effectives, has won for them not 
only the admiration of their comrades, but when the 
history of the war is written, will earn for the Regi- 
ment a reputation which will stand amongst the 
highest in the record of the exploits of the British 
Army. 

The G.O.C, in bidding them farewell and ex- 
pressing the deepest regret at their departure knows 
that he is not only voicing the sentiments of himself 
and his staff, but also those of the whole of their 
comrades of the 8oth Brigade. 

They proceeded from Aliems to Flexicourt, and 
there they were used as an instructional battalion for 
the British O.T.C. They proved of great value to 
the British in this capacity, as they were particu- 
larly familiar with all the intricacies of trench war- 
fare, and no battalion was better fitted to teach men 
for this work than the veteran P.P.C.L.I. 

It was only one day's ride from Flexicourt to the 
Ypres salient, and they left the train within a day's 
march of their destination. Northern France, and 
proceeded to billets where they remained for a few 
days. 

There they met their first Canadian comrades, a 
band of the Strathcona Horse. 

As the boys were leaving the train, the band 
played, with a touch of whimsical humor, " Hold 
Your Hand Out, Naughty Boy." 

General Alderson inspected the battalion here. 
He pronounced them the steadiest men he had seen. 
They were brigadiered with the Canadian Seventh 
Brigade, consisting of ist and 2nd C.M.R.'s and the 
42nd Battalion. 



"CARRY ON!" 285 

They occupied trenches in Wulvergtern and Mes- 
sines. They also had several trips into the trenches 
at Zillebeke and Hooge. This was their old fight- 
ing ground, and those who were left from former 
engagements appeared quite at home in this district. 
Fighting was very heavy at Sanctuary Wood. It 
began in earnest on June 2 by the Germans blowing 
up the trenches of the C.M.R.'s. They broke 
through and almost surrounded the Pats in Sanc- 
tuary Wood. Although every devilish instrument 
of war was brought to bear on this wood, and the 
Pats' effectives were reduced to 87 N.C.O.'s and 
men, they refused to yield an inch of ground. All 
the attacking by the Germans failed to dislodge 
them. 

Major Gait, while lying on a stretcher with one 
leg shattered by a shell a few minutes previously, 
heard one of the officers ask a sergeant " if there 
was any way to retire from the wood in case the 
few remaining men were overpowered and had to 
retire." 

The Major raised himself upon his remaining 
leg and said to the officer: 

" There is no such thing as retiring for Patricias! 
We must fight to the last! " 

And so they fought, till reinforcements arrived. 

At this writing Major Gait, with one leg, is still 
on duty. 

The Pats held on for three days and nights; held 
like grim death, while their wounded were lying 
in hundreds about them, deprived of rations and 
water. The men who were left preserved their 



286 MOPPING UP! 

scanty ammunition as best they could, using it only 
when attacked. 

Colonel Duller was killed while leading his men 
in a counter-attack. He jumped out of the trench 
to allow a group near him room enough to make a 
good start. The last words from his lips were : 
" Forward, Patricias! " 

The only remaining commissioned officers after 
the fight were Captain McKenzie, and Lieutenants 
McPherson and Curry. 

The Regimental Sergeant, Major Anderson, was 
severely wounded in the leg, which was later ampu- 
tated. 

During the battle the 42nd and 49th Battalions 
made several gallant attempts to rescue the Pats and 
drive the Germans back, but without success. It 
was finally accomplished, after the three days' fight- 
ing, by a concerted attack with reinforcements of 
artillery. 

The wounded were taken first to the dressing sta- 
tion, where everything possible was done for them. 
There they remained usually till night, when they 
were removed by field ambulances to the first field 
hospital. There they received further treatment, 
and amputations were performed if required. 
There, too, they were labeled for the various 
hospitals throughout France and Belgium — and 
" Blighty." 

It was to dear old Blighty that they all longed to 
go. This was the Mecca to which all wounded 
Canadians wished fervently to be consigned, their 
haven of cure and rest. 



CHAPTER XXIX 
MOPPING UP 

AFTER the terrible sacrifice at Sanctuary Wood 
my Patricias were idle for a time, not having 
' forces of sufficient experience to " carry on." 

But the recruits who joined the regiment showed 
the same eagerness to learn and get into the actual; 
fighting that their predecessors had displayed. They 
felt that the burden rested solely on service, and 
forthwith they took up the cudgels to render the 
subsequent history of the organization, that all the 
world now knew, as glorious as had been its be- 
ginnings. 

For this determined spirit, which has been main- 
tained from the first, the magnificent prestige of the 
battalion has been responsible, of course. Those 
who reinforced it from time to time have seen the 
need of maintaining its high standards, and they 
have done it. They are doing it now, while I 
approach the end of my story. 

I wish to speak briefly of a matter which is vital 
to every reader, of any free nation, who peruses 
these pages. 

You have often heard, from the written word or 
perhaps from speakers, that the Allies are in this 
war to protect or to avenge other nations. 

Right here I wish to draw a distinction; to put 
the matter in a little clearer light, as I see it. 

287 



288 MOPPING UP! 

To put it concretely, we will take the United 
States, the last great world's power to join the 
other free nations in the struggle against German 
ruthlessness. The United States of America is not 
fighting for France; she is not fighting for Belgium; 
she is not fighting for Rumania. 

She is fighting for one nation, and that — her- 
self. Just as Britain, France, Belgium; each for 
herself. 

But no selfish object of conquest is contained in 
the war which these nations, together with Italy 
and the others engaged against the Central Powers, 
are waging. For it is a defensive warfare, carried 
on against unparalleled aggression and a cynical 
ambition to yoke the world with Teutonic thought 
and shackles of bondage. 

In this war, altruistic purpose emphatically be- 
longs at home ! Each of the Allied nations fights 
for the right to maintain its integrity. 

This deadly need, quite naturally, was sensed by 
the soldiers in the field long before the people at 
home wholly realized the situation. The people 
of the United States required full time to learn the 
German purpose before they massed solidly behind 
President Wilson at the call to arms. It is not 
strange that this required an interval. It had not 
been thought possible that modern times, amid civi- 
lization theoretically enlightened, could produce 
anything so monstrous as the German idea. But 
the episode of the Lusitania started a revulsion of 
feeling in America which resulted in that great 
country entering the conflict for the reason that 



MOPPING UP 289 

every other Allied contender had entered it, and 
that reason was self-preservation. 

So, from the start, the men from Canada who 
were engaged in the struggle knew that they were 
not fighting for the motherland. They were fight- 
ing for themselves, for the very soul of Canada. 

It was early in the fight that the Allied soldiers 
perceived the stealthy idea behind the Teutonic 
programme of efforts. It required no keen detec- 
tive acumen to read this. Remembrance supplied 
the knowledge; the proper piecing together of the 
acts of Germany for over forty years, since the 
Franco-Prussian war. 

Now the main issue was to be decided on the 
Western Front; upon the old battlefields where 
Frederick the Great established the house of the 
Hohenzollerns; where Napoleon at first triumphed, 
then fell; where Wilhelm was to attempt world 
domination, and fail. 

It was well understood by Canadians how the 
Land of the Maple Leaf was to have fallen a 
victim to Prussian aggression. Germany planned 
to take her foes one at a time. The interruption 
of her programme, at the very outset, explains the 
rage which possessed her when Britain entered the 
lists. 

The peculiar German mind had not taken into 
account that the civilized world would be at no 
trouble to grasp the fact that the Hun intended to 
clutch it, piecemeal, at his leisure. 

There is ample evidence that these objects con- 
stituted the German programme: 



290 MOPPING UP! 

France would be speedily conquered, the attempt 
helped by the illegal invasion of Belgium. Eng- 
land would not interfere. After a few weeks, more 
territory would be wrested from France. There 
would then be peace; or rather, an armed truce; 
say for ten years. 

Then Britain, lulled and unready as the Teutons 
would hope, would be attacked. Victory, of 
course, would speedily come to the German super- 
men. Without reference to the fate of colonies, 
Canada should be yielded up to Germany. 

That Teutons cherished this vain dream Is well 
known. The former American ambassador to 
Wilhelmstrasse, James Gerard, reveals the inter- 
esting plan in his book on German Intrigue. It 
had been gravely decided that, after the transfer 
of Canada to Germany, the provinces should be re- 
christened with guttural, outlandish, unpronounce- 
able Hunnish names ! 

Then would come another truce, say for ten years 
more. Meanwhile, the German joss would squat 
behind the southern border of his new provinces, a 
line three thousand miles wide, and leer southward 
at the United States of America. When the time 
came the Teuton hordes would pour into America 
from the north and attack by sea from the east. 

It was surely a fantastic dream, one worthy of the 
descendants of Attila, made formidable as Attlla 
never thought of being, through the exercise of the 
devilish arts of modern destructive science. 

It was not many months — no, weeks — after the 
Germans had started in to realize the dream that 



MOPPING UP 291 

they found they had made one fatal error in reck- 
oning. 

They had not counted on the other fellows. 

Had the Junkers believed Britain would enter 
the conflict the attack on the world's peace would 
have been deferred. With the violation of inter- 
national agreement in the case of Belgium, Britain 
looked ahead, saw the danger to the world and to 
herself; and declared war. Every other Allied 
nation has the same reason. 

So the Canadians went to Europe to fight for 
Canada. They had no more desire to accept a 
future order to substitute the English tongue for one 
that sounds like a gargle, than had the Americans 
later, when the issue was put to them. 

They rather liked the idea of continuing to speak 
the English tongue, that which gave Magna Charta 
to the world. 

Canada, nor any other single nation, relished the 
prospect of waiting supine till Germany was ready 
to attack and steal her. In such event Canadians 
were ready to fight till the last drop of blood was 
shed and the last gun was silenced. But they well 
knew that bravery and muscle alone could not pre- 
vail against the devilish machinery of conquest 
that Germany had been massing through the 
years. 

Canadians' realization of the true core of affairs 
was shown by their ready response to Britain's call. 
Their firm adherence to the principle for which they 
fight has been shown in recent months. After tast- 
ing of the very dregs of bitterness, of sacrifice, of 



292 MOPPING UP I 

desolation in this war, they affirmed the policy of 
conscription by an overwhelming vote. They were 
grimly ready to carry on to the death, in order that 
future liberty might be assured. 

The clearness of Anglo-Saxon perception, spread- 
ing through Britain and the United States, is what 
has nullified the German plan in its inception and 
prevented a series of future murderous holocausts 
for the next few decades, in the interest of Prussian- 
izing the world. 

The determination to crush this spirit grows with 
the Allies' sufferings. The modern Lucifer, with 
his slogan of ruthlessness, shall fall as did his 
mythological predecessor. 

This unrelenting spirit to do and die, which the 
Hun had not reckoned on, is what impelled the 
filling up of the gaps in the ranks of the Princess 
Pats as fast as they were depleted. Time and again 
almost wiped out in those earlier murderous days 
was the battalion. But the Huns found that, fol- 
lowing the old myth, they had sown dragons' teeth, 
from which sprang further numbers of armed men 
to oppose them. For the honor of the regiment 
toiled and strove and suffered these recruits, and 
they added to its glories. 

Now I come to an explanation of the term that 
gives this volume its title. 

The Canadians crossed the seas prepared to treat 
the Hun chivalrously. They did not then know him 
for a Hun. They regarded him as a mistaken 
brother. 

One out of innumerable incidents proving his 



MOPPING UP 293 

Hunship, for the purpose of this chapter stands out 
in my memory. 

It was during our attack on Courcelette. Our 
first wave had passed and had taken the front line of 
German trenches. In them were many Germans. 
They raised the cry of '' Merci, Kamerad! " 

The tolerant Canadians listened. It was in their 
blood to extend chivalrous treatment. They di- 
rected the prisoners back to the counting stations and 
swept on toward the second line of trenches. 

Now occurred a fragrant instance of the treachery 
that is inbred in the Hun. 

Those Germans rushed to machine guns left in 
the trenches. Many Canadians who were running 
toward the second line of trenches fell dead, riddled 
from the rear by the men whose lives they had 
spared. 

It was incidents like that at Courcelette that bred 
in the Canucks, as the war developed, a spirit of 
ruthlessness that was in some respects equal to 
Fritz's own. 

There was just one difference. In the Canadian 
brand of ruthlessness there is no treachery and no 
dissimulation. Candidly, he is out to kill Fritz, and 
Fritz knows it. 

It is from such incidents as Courcelette that the 
business of " mopping up the trenches " is religiously 
pursued by the Allied armies. 

When the first line of trenches is taken nothing 
but meek and unconditional surrender goes. The 
man who has whined, " Merci, Kamerad! " is care- 
fully searched for weapons, and he goes back with 



294 MOPPING UP! 

his fellows to the counting stations under a strong 
guard. The wounded are also carried back, if they 
are not able to walk. All machine guns and other 
weapons found in the trench are removed. 

This part of the work goes on while the main 
force is sweeping on toward the second line of 
trenches, or the third, perhaps. The section of the 
force which " house-cleans " the trench just taken is 
called the " moppers." 

The name is graphic, and means just what it im- 
plies. When the moppers leave that trench there is 
no opportunity for evil left in it. 

All those who refused to surrender have been 
killed or desperately wounded and taken away. 

In the earlier days of the war large parties of 
Germans used to remain behind, hiding in trench 
saps and dugouts and in camouflaged machine gun 
emplacements, ready to loose the spew of death at 
the Canucks' backs as they hurried on toward more 
trenches. 

Now, instead of large parties of Huns remaining 
for this pastime, the pleasure is indulged in by only 
a few extra venturesome souls. 

The moppers are expert bomb throwers. And 
they are handy at every form of destruction. 

Every spot, every dugout, every shell hole that 
may hide a German receives immediate and deadly 
attention. No mere wounds are administered in 
this work. There is only death. 

The Huns said they wanted war waged ruthlessly. 
They are so waging it — and getting it back, with 
interest. 



CHAPTER XXX 
IN BLIGHTY 

SO now I leave the detailed record of the 
exploits of my Patricias. Their deeds at 
Sanctuary Wood — ironic name for a theatre 
of such sanguinary events — show how nobly were 
maintained the traditions of Ypres. 

They had carried on. They are carrying on to 
this day, fighting with historic gallantry and death- 
less courage against the enemies of world liberty and 
justice. 

Of this regiment, whose fame will be immortal, 
I, its first Mascot, am proud indeed! 

I pass to Pendragon, reverting to the late spring 
and summer of 1915. 

In retrospect, those weeks I spent after he was 
wounded, the vision of which casually I had seen in 
a dream, seem interminable. 

I was gripped with a strange unrest, a great fear, 
a despair which throbbed in reactions that left me 
weak and trembling. My appetite failed; I slept 
but fitfully and lay for hours brooding; I shrank and 
trembled the more at the constant thundering of the 
guns, the savage detonations that I had hated so 
thoroughly since coming to the scene of terrors. 

I remained where I had been since following the 
Pats across the Channel; with the transport, back 

295 



296 MOPPING UP! 

of the front lines. I would have liked now to leave 
and try to find Pendragon. But he had told me 
solemnly that I must remain there, and I had there 
remained for months. I could not leave till he came 
for me, or sent for me. 

So I remained in constant worriment. I felt my 
strength dwindling, I grew thin, languid, feverish. 
I waited, wondered and hoped, despaired. 

Said one of my friends one morning: 

" That dog is as thin as a rail ! He is worrying. 
He will surely die if he doesn't see Jack." 

I rose, trembling. A great wave of gladness 
swept through my spirit. The black Thing of which 
I had not dared to think had passed. 

At last I was assured, in these blessed words. He 
was alive ! 

My friend continued: " We had better write Jack 
about it, and see what he says." 

So the letter was sent. An answer quickly 
came. 

The next few days I spent in great excitement. 
The month was August. But so exalted was my 
mood that the black shadows which usually beset me 
during that month, so hateful to all dogs, were 
beaten back. I thought only of one thing; that I 
was to see him again and soon. 

Came the preparations, the farewells of my kind 
friends, the trip across the Channel to Blighty. 
Then I found myself on a train, speeding in the 
direction of London. 

I was offered food, but I could not eat; I was too 
excited. I only drank, for I was feverish. 



IN BLIGHTY 297 

Finally the train stopped at Paddington Station. 
I was tied among trunks. 

Shortly, at some distance I heard a voice, which 
I had heard so often in my dreams during these 
wretched months of uncertainty. It was the voice 
for which I had longed; which held for my ears the 
sweetest music in the world. 

It was the voice of Pendragon. 

With the joy of it I stood for a moment as if 
carved in stone ; my ears cocked, my eyes wistful, 
trembling inside as he walked toward me. It seemed 
unreal, this flood of joy welling within me; as if the 
fact were too good to be true. Would I wake, again 
to realize the bitterness of separation? 

" Bobbie! " 

I would have scarcely known the gaunt figure in 
khaki, with the pale drawn face and with the right 
arm in a sling, as he bent over me. But the 
voice ! 

The last vestige of bewildered doubt was swept 
away. I realized my happiness. 

The power of expression is an inestimable gift. 
I am told that there are poor creatures congenitally 
unable to express their joy. I am sorry for them; 
they miss the very cream of life. But as for me; 
when I am glad, everybody within sight or hearing 
knows it ! 

After the jubilant reunion, the leash that had 
held me for days was removed. I was again with 
the one man In the world I was fairly living for. 
My spirits were now as unleashed as my body. 

The boys at the front, past and present, now 



298 MOPPING UP! 

receded into the background of my memory. I was 
back In the world that had been made for two; 
Pendragon and myself. First he took me to a large 
building where there were many eatables and we 
partook of what was for me, following the gas- 
tronomic custom of an English day, a bite in bed, 
breakfast, a mid-morning bit, luncheon, afternoon 
tea, dinner, and supper after the show; all in one. 
For I ate as I had not eaten in months. 

I saw my companion concernedly watching my 
thin sides as I ate on and on and on. But I fawned 
up at him, trying to tell him not to worry; that soon 
now, that I was again with him, those sides should 
be sleek and round. Which they soon were ! 

It seemed that, following our old custom, we were 
now to be " on the go." For Pendy informed me 
we must now be moving, as he had a leave of some 
days and we were to visit that famous town of which 
I had often heard children singing at play, while 
they circled round holding one another's hands: 

"London bridge is falling down." 

Those children must be mistaken, however. For 
I have been there, and I can assure them that the 
bridge Is still standing. 

Not only once, but several subsequent times dur- 
ing our long stay in Netley Hospital did we visit 
London, and I will now tell briefly of our grouped 
experiences, not only there but throughout the 
British Isles. 

At various times we were invited to visit some of 
the best known families in the Isles, and always did 



IN BLIGHTY 299 

we receive the finest courtesies, which British people 
are noted for extending. 

We attended dinners given for wounded soldiers, 
and many other functions, where the guests in khaki 
were made to feel how deeply sensible was England 
of the efforts of the men who were defending the 
cause of world liberty on the Continent. 

One of our most enjoyable visits was to Hampton 
Court at Richmond-on-the-Thames, We motored 
to Hampton Court and entered the former home of 
kings and queens by the west front, bordered on 
both sides by short stone pillars. We went Into the 
court through a large stone archway; proceeded 
through the clock court; thence through a colonnade 
Into the Dutch gardens where grew many beautiful 
flowers. 

We saw the Lion's Gate, and also the corridor 
where the ghost of the beautiful Jane Seymour Is 
reputed to walk of nights; also the private stairway 
leading to her apartments. 

Next we visited Cardinal Wolsey's kitchen. 
There still stands the table he used, set as he left 
It with the plate and service he employed. The 
Iron grate and fire pokers employed in his lifetime 
are still there. About the table were four chairs, 
carved by the deft hands of those days. On the 
walls are the horns of deer shot by the Cardinal. 

We passed out of Hampton Court through the 
Three Avenues; and beautiful thoroughfares they 
were, running straight as arrows for miles and 
flanked by evergreen trees. 

We motored back to London and visited West- 



300 MOPPING UP! 

minster Abbey, wherein stand lifelike wax figures of 
England's kings and queens garbed in the clothing 
they wore In life. 

I am glad to have been one of the soldiers privi- 
leged to meet Lord Hardwicke and friends in the 
House of Lords. On that occasion one of the Cana- 
dian soldiers sat on the " woolsack," the seat of the 
Chancellor, and remarked to his Lordship : 

" This is a very comfortable seat. Where do 
you sit? " 

Everybody, including Lord Hardwicke, laughed. 

His Lordship explained that the King and Queen 
sat In iron seats back of the Chancellor's chair, these 
seats being enclosed with iron bars. I wondered 
at this, as we went away. Why did they enclose 
those seats with iron bars? I had heard that King 
George and Queen Mary were very kindly. How- 
ever, perhaps these bars had been erected a long 
time before, when royalty was more savage and like 
Kaiser Wilhelm, I reasoned. 

During Queen Victoria's reign only one of these 
iron seats was occupied, even in the earlier years 
before she was widowed, as the King-Consort was 
not permitted to sit. 

In the outer room of the House of Lords were 
shelves filled with thousands of volumes. It con- 
stituted one of the most elaborate libraries on earth. 

From there we went to the House of Commons 
and heard a debate between Asqulth and Redmond. 

On the way out of the Parliament Buildings Lord 
Hardwicke pointed out the spot where stood Charles 
I when he received his death sentence. 



IN BLIGHTY 301 

From time to time we visited many places of 
interest in London. One that I enjoyed visiting 
especially was London Tower, where for centuries 
were confined many noted criminals — and others. 
For more or less of injustice has been dealt out in 
London Tower. 

The names of many past inmates of the Tower 
are to be seen, carved on the walls. 

We also visited Windsor Castle, and the famous 
church connected with it. Services were being held 
there at the time, and the choir was singing beautiful 
hymns. 

These are only a few of the places visited by me 
with sundry of wounded Canadian soldiers. Wher- 
ever we went people received us with open arms 
and hearts. No words could adequately express 
the kindness we encountered everywhere. War is 
the oddest of necromancers. While it makes wills 
cold and rigid, it touches hearts till from them gush 
warm springs of sympathy. 

By word and deed the people evidenced deep 
appreciation of the service of the Canadian soldiers. 
It is safe to say that no folk on earth could extend 
more cordial welcomes to wounded and convalescing 
soldiers, unless it be the Irish, where was encoun- 
tered the very soul of hospitality. 

We had an excellent chance to attest this, for be- 
fore we came home we paid extended visits through 
the British Isles. 

As I looked back and remember, no other people, 
of course, can approach the Irish in the spirit of 
hospitality. Every house is welcome to the colonial 



302 MOPPING UP! 

soldier. No matter what may be the feeling 
toward the English people, the appearance of a 
Canadian carries the open sesame. Canada's glori- 
ous record at the front has deepened this feeling 
among the Irish, For no people admire heroism 
more than the honest, hospitable, warm-hearted folk 
of the Emerald Isle. 

Nor must I forget to mention the glorious High- 
lands, that gave so freely of their sons to repel the 
foe that unchecked would have invaded the land im- 
mortahzed by the genius of Sir Walter Scott. 

From every family one or more of the menfolk 
were in the trenches. The region of enthralling 
scenery had been stripped of much of its noble stock 
of heroic traditions; big, splendid, fearless fellows 
gone to do their share In crushing the menace 
of the world. About every table were vacant 
chairs. 

Every day brought its memories of the absent, 
and too often came news that a loved one would 
return to the Highlands and home no more. 

Under these circumstances the colonial soldier 
was doubly welcome to occupy the absent one's 
chair, if only for a cup of tea. 

And it was the same in Wales. In time of the 
test, the bond which held the British together, for 
justice and the glory of the Empire, was found un- 
breakable by the Hun, who in his folly had hoped 
otherwise. 

And under the lash of suffering the bond cemented 
by the blood of centuries had strengthened. 

Through the clouds of anguish streamed the sun- 



IN BLIGHTY 303 

shine of brave smiles. Through the pall gleamed 
the spirit undying, the will and the courage to endure 
till God's will was accomplished, and the world came 
forth from its Gethsemane with Liberty, that the 
Hun sought to load with chains, forever free to lead 
the hosts of men. 




CHAPTER XXXI 

NETLEY HOSPITAL 

E were in Blighty for a year-and-a-half. 
But not all our time was occupied with 
jaunts such as I have briefly described. 
Kather, only a little of it. Most of the time my 
Pendragon was in the hospital; suffering cruelly, the 
recipient of constant and most careful attention 
from the best of surgeons, and slowly but surely 
mending. 

Netley Hospital, distant seventy miles from 
London, was the most famous hospital in the world 
in peace time, it being the British army and navy 
hospital. Since the outbreak of the war, through 
the admirable efficiency of its ministrations its fame 
has spread. 

It is z remarkable building, a quarter-mile long, 
three stories high and built of brick and stone. 
Within the giant structure are three-quarters of a 
mile of hallways. On either side of these corridors 
are hundreds of wards, each ward accommodating 
from twenty to forty patients. 

The floors are of oilcloth, and are polished every 
morning, so that they glitter like glass. Every cot 
is immaculately covered, and shows not a wrinkle 
when its occupant is convalescent and out of it. The 
care taken of every detail within the institution is 

304 



NETLEY HOSPITAL 305 

beyond praise, and all concerned with the interior 
arrangements are held to rigid account. 

Behind this great building is located the British 
Red Cross Hospital, consisting of fifty huts, each 
hut containing twenty beds. 

Just a little instance to illustrate the difference 
between the methods of the Hun and of civili- 
zation. 

In one of the wings of the Netley Hospital were, 
during the time we were there, a hundred or more 
wounded German prisoners. These men received 
the same careful attention, the same food, the same 
treatment in every way as did the British wounded. 

The reports brought of the treatment of British 
wounded by the Huns differ materially from this ! 

Allow me, too, to mention a matter which gives 
me considerable satisfaction to this day. 

In admitting me within the precincts of the hos- 
pital a precedent was broken. For dogs had never 
been allowed to enter there. 

The exception that was made in my case I owe to 
the courtesy of the Commandant, Sir Warren 
Crooke-Lawles, a fine Irish gentleman. Realizing 
the honor conferred upon me, I was always very 
careful not to abuse the confidence reposed in me, and 
I behaved at all times like a gentleman. No; not 
like a gentleman; as a gentleman. I am a four- 
footed gentleman. 

What a difference one little word does make, to 
be sure! If the Kaiser had said "Wait! " instead 
of " Start! " the Hun would have postponed his dis- 
illusionment regarding his own powers. 



3o6 MOPPING UP! 

The grounds surrounding the hospital were mag- 
nificent. Well-kept lawns were shaded with large 
evergreen trees beneath which the convalescent sol- 
diers loved to rest. 

Adjoining the hospital was the estate of Mrs. 
Elliot Yorke, a benevolent lady who entertained the 
wounded soldiers at tea twice weekly. The estate 
was called Hamble Cliff. 

A fine driveway connected the hospital grounds 
with this estate. On entering the grounds of the 
estate the sweet odor of innumerable roses growing 
on the terraced lawn extended to the callers the most 
subtle and enticing of welcomes. 

The patients enjoyed to the full the hours spent 
In this hospitable house and in the adjoining gardens. 
Sometimes tea would be served on the lawns under 
the sweeping branches of great evergreen trees. 

It was the same on the hospital grounds. Every 
effort was made to entertain the soldiers. Two, or 
sometimes three, weekly concerts would be given 
either by amateur or professional entertainers. It 
was the steady custom of entertainers at the theatres 
of Southampton, four miles away, to arrange pro- 
grammes for the amusement of the soldiers. 

Reverting to the Yorke estate, the house was built 
by Admiral Sir Joseph Yorke with prize money re- 
ceived from the Dutch wars of that period. A gun 
which had been captured from the foc'sle of one of 
the Dutch frigates stands now on a bank of the 
estate overlooking the waters of Southampton Bay. 
The date inscribed upon this gun is 1788. 

From the grounds runs a road which leads to 



NETLEY HOSPITAL 307 

the village of Hamble, a thoroughfare whereon the 
soldiers loved to stroll. In Hamble is a church 
which dates from the Norman conquest in the elev- 
enth century. The name of the village is taken 
from the French. At one time the church was a 
monastery. 

On the road from Netley to Southampton, about 
two miles out and halfway between the two places, 
is located Netley Abbey, a picturesque ruin said to 
have been built in the days of Henry I. It was 
destroyed during the reign of Henry VIII, when 
occurred the Reformation. 

I suppose the Reformation was a good thing. 
From what I have heard told of Henry VIII, I 
should imagine that he needed reforming ! 

I looked with much interest upon this abbey. I 
heard that cannon balls that were shot from the 
river during that trouble of so long ago are some- 
times dug up in the neighborhood of the ruined 
cathedral. But now the old walls are covered with 
ivy and time has crumbled the stone which the 
builders evidently believed, judging from the solid- 
ity of the structure, would permanently endure. 

Now the abbey holds the aspect of peace. Still 
endure in the world, however, wars and rumors of 
wars as the generations live and die ! 

The Canadian soldiers loved to roam among 
these ruins — and be glad that they were still alive ! 
The beauty of their present surroundings deepened 
the love and the instinctive hold upon life, just as 
the miserable experiences in the trenches conspired 
to make them reckless, feeling that life was not so 



3o8 MOPPING UP! 

precious a gift after all; and thus making them more 
willing to risk it in battle. 

So, I think, the psychology of the military powers, 
while grim, is particularly effective! For war is a 
game of life — and death. 

Many benevolent families of the surrounding 
countryside, one of the most beautiful in England, 
entertained the soldiers at tea. 

The year-and-a-half spent in this hospital, in the 
very prime and flower of my life, holds in retro- 
spect the deepened impression of having been one of 
my happiest intervals. I was petted by everybody, 
from the kind Commandant and the sweet Sisters of 
War to the most distinguished visiting men and 
women. 

Many princesses, countesses, duchesses, and other 
^' esses " I cannot remember, stooped to stroke my 
«able coat, to pat my " apple " head, and to say to 
me many complimentary things. 

Yes, and finally the throne, the Dowager Queen 
herself! 

I recall the excitement which rose upon a summer 
day when it became known that Alexandra, the 
widow of the genial King Edward, would visit 
us. 

Needless to say, in the time intervening before her 
visit there was much preparation and bunting. I 
suppose the coolest head in or about the hospital 
was my own. 

All the wounded soldiers were in line on the 
grounds as Alexandra, whose face still held distinct 
traces of her early remarkable beauty, approached 



NETLEY HOSPITAL 309 

us. They were drawn up In the order of their 
commands. 

So it chanced that, in turn, she passed before the 
English, the Canadians, the Irish, the Scotch, the 
Welsh, the Australians and the New Zealanders; 
this array well representing the extent of the Empire 
upon which the sun never sets. 

She shook hands with many of them, but I may 
be pardoned a natural satisfaction in the recollection 
that she paid more attention to me than to almost 
any other soldier in the line. 

When she came to me she stopped and looked 
down intently at me. I looked up at her with my 
engaging open smile. 

She turned to those who were with her, called me 
something that sounded like a " noble fellow " — I 
did not quite catch it, because my attention was 
absorbed by a bird fluttering in a nearby tree — and 
asked who I was. 

" He is Bobbie Burns, the Mascot of the Princess 
Patricias, Your Majesty," answered the Com- 
mandant. 

Then she bent down, as the princesses and other 
noble ladies had done, and stroked my coat and said 
kind words to me. 

You think I was overpowered by the condescen- 
sion of the great lady? That I fairly trembled with 
incredulous ecstasy deep inside of me? 

You are quite wrong if you think that. I was 
pleased; I do not dislike attention. But I took it 
wholly as a matter of course. 

Why not? My blood was as royal as her own. 



310 MOPPING UP! 

I was pleased at receiving her gracious attention, 
of course. But I am pleased at receiving the 
gracious attention of everybody. I am a democratic 
dog, you see. I speak to everybody and everybody 
speaks to me. 

It is as it should be. Isn't that what King George 
and all of us are fighting for? To make this a 
democratic world — or keep it so? A world of and 
for the people, " that hberty shall not perish from 
the earth"? 

Finally we left Netley for Ramsgate Hospital. 
This is located on the east coast. We did not re- 
main there for so long, thank God! How I hated 
it there 1 

For, when we first approached it, I fell to 
trembling, and I was ill at ease while we remained 
there. Why? 

Because from Ramsgate you can hear the 
rumbling of the guns in Flanders. 

Finally we moved again, this time to Liverpool. 
We boarded the steamer Scandinavian. Around me 
was green, undulating, sobbing water, I remembered. 

I was overjoyed. We were upon the Atlantic, 
steaming toward the land I loved best of all. 

Canada ! 

We landed at St. Johns, New Brunswick, in nine 
days. In three days more we were in Toronto. 

There I was presented with a medal by the Royal 
Humane Society of Toronto. I was much pleased, 
for I sat in a chair, while Pendragon told about me, 
and I was admired by an audience of over a thou- 
sand people. 



NETLEY HOSPITAL 311 

I confess, I am never tired of attention! 

But within my spirit there burned a hot impa- 
tience. Often my gaze turned to the north. 

I yearned for Porcupine, set among the northern 
spaces, hedged by the clean white mantle of the 
snows. I yearned for my chickens that were, by 
this time of the year, mostly hens. I wanted my 
rabbits. 

Most of ail, I wanted Rex! 

And when, soon after arriving in Toronto, my 
Pendy told me that we were immediately going 
north, I was glad. 



CHAPTER XXXII 
" A TOUCH OF NATURE " 

IT was three months later. 
Still the white mantle of snow, of which my 
Rob of the Soldiers Three had dreamed when 
he lay dying, covered the rugged Northland that I 
loved. 

It rested, dazzling, upon the flat reaches. It 
climbed the ridges and lingered at their crests, as if 
anxious to meet and mingle with the white cloud 
vapors that were like moving icebergs in the blue 
sea of the sky. It settled in the sombre plumes of 
the evergreens and weighed them down. 

On this afternoon that waned toward evening, 
though the air was keen and the icicles which hung 
pendent from the giant rocks were still unmelted, 
there was a thrill of coming spring. 

In a wild freshness, in a resined fragrance it stole 
through the Northland. Stirred in the crowns of 
the deciduous trees a southwesterly wind. It 
breathed of long, languorous, sun-drenched days 
to come; of fantastic shadows stealing over the 
rippling waters of winding lakes; of Canada, 
fairest of forest dryads, dreaming in the vapors 
of incense rising from the brown urn of the 
soil. 

Through the day I had followed my Pendragon 

312 



" A TOUCH OF NATURE " 313 

in the bush. He strode ahead, the crackle of break- 
ing sticks and twigs mingling with the soft scuff of 
his snowshoes. I padded along without trouble, as 
the snow was firm enough to bear my forty- 
pounds. 

The sun was low in the west now. I knew that 
soon we would be stopping to camp for the night. 

The shadows deepened below; above us the arch 
of steel-blue sky darkened to purple. 

Here in the bush I could not see it, but I knew 
that from a rocky hill crest I could be watching the 
red coals of the sunset cooling to gray ashes on the 
hearth of the west. 

Suddenly Pendragon stopped. I anticipated 
supper. I wagged my tail. 

Soon came the ringing of his woodman's ax. 
With the speed that only those can understand who 
have fared through the wilds, wresting from them 
their living as they went, he prepared for the night. 

The rude shelter was built. His blankets were 
unrolled. From over the crackling fire stole the 
odors of savory bacon frying, and of steaming 
coffee. Soon we fared like two kings. 

After he had gone to sleep I lay by the dying fire. 
My nose between my forepaws, I watched wistfully. 
For what? I did not know. 

I was oddly restless; apprehensive; fearful. The 
strange sense which had aforetime warned me of 
trouble was again disturbing my spirit. 

The purple of the twilight had long since been 
swallowed in the maw of the dark. The hint of 
spring had been buried with the sunset. In the air 



314 MOPPING UP! 

was now a wintry chill. Enfolding us was the 
menace of the night. 

No ; it was not the night itself. How many hours 
of dreamless slumber had I passed in the dark 
security of the forest, where no police are necessary 
to guard, as in lighted cities! 

No; it was something alien, sinister, intrusive, this 
menace that the night held. 

I sensed it and lay trembling, alert, with wistful 
gaze that was not sharp enough, however, to pierce 
the gloom outside the wavering arc of radiance cast 
by the dying fire. 

Roundabout was silence, that usually I found so 
soothing in these wilds. But now it was a thing of 
terror, a brooding strain that would presently snap 
and release an appalling climax which it was now 
breeding. 

I stole a fearful glance at the shelter of boughs. 
A flame leaped up from an embered log in the fire. 
I dimly beheld Pendragon stretched in his blankets, 
sleeping soundly. The ax that he had carried in the 
trenches, as in the forest, lay by his side. 

In that moment came a sound which set me 
trembling. It summoned an ugly memory. Even 
in my present trips throughout the forest with Pen- 
dragon I flinched whenever he fired his rifle, because 
of the memories of those evil days overseas. 

Now I heard the sound again. Startlingly close 
there rumbled the thunders of the guns that, for so 
long during my stay on the Western Front, set me 
cringing and disturbed my rest. 

The cannon fire I had heard in embattled Europe 



"A TOUCH OF NATURE" 315 

now split the silence of Canadian forests in the 
night ! 

Had those stealthy enemies followed us home 
across the seas? 

Then I saw something else, that froze my blood. 

Out of the shadows of the bush, into the waver- 
ing circle of radiance cast by the dying fire, leaped 
several crouching, savage, gray-clad figures. 

Bent like uncouth apes, as had been their fore- 
runners leaping to their death in No Man's Land 
at the Second Battle of Ypres, they came bounding 
toward the shelter under which slept my Pendragon. 
In the hands of these ghostly Huns were fixed 
bayonets. 

I wriggled in an effort to rise and defend Pen- 
dragon, but a paralysis of horror held me. My 
snarling mouth loosed a strange sound, the mingling 
of a growl of rage and a whine of fear. 

Like mad I struggled to rise, but the net of my 
fears held me helpless, threshing, raging. 



" What's the matter, Bobbie ? Dreaming 
again? " 

My eyes open; at first bewildered, incredulous; 
then sparkling with joy. 

In wild relief my glance flashed about my real 
environment. 

We were in the living room of the cabin on the 
edge of the forest at Porcupine. There were the 
moose heads upon the log walls. Pendragon's rifle 
and ax lay extended on rests next them. Rugs of 



3i6 MOPPING UP! 

soft skins covered the rude floor. Charred logs 
popped and roared and crackled in the fireplace. A 
soft wind of April crooned in the still white outer 
spaces. 

" Snow sliding off the roof wake you, Bobbie?" 
asked the beloved voice again. 

Snow sliding from the roof! So that was the 
sound which had suggested to my drowsing brain 
the thunders of the guns ! 

I stood at his right side, fawning up at him, await- 
ing a caress. Then — I remembered. 

Again o'erswept my spirit a wave of passioned 
revolt. For his right arm hung stiffly at his side. 
What had Fate given him, who had sought the great 
adventure ? 

But, after all, he had returned. He alone of the 
Soldiers Three, still lived, and health was return- 
ing to him, a glorious flood. While Rob lay in 
Flanders, in a grave marked with a wooden cross 
— and Fred — where lay he? 

Yes; he was back with me in our beloved North- 
land. But I knew that it would never be quite the 
same again. The dream just broken, of ranging 
the wilds with him as we had done for years before 
Canada called her sons; it was a dream of the 
past. 

For a woodsman needs both his hands. We 
would never fare far afield again. 

With my heart suddenly bursting with sorrow for 
him, I rose, a little stiffly, and walked around to his 
left side; walked humbly, with my eyes upraised in 
love to his own. 



"A TOUCH OF NATURE" 317 

His gaze followed my progress, which may have 
been a little slower than in the past. His left hand 
descended to softly rub my head. He looked down 
at me seriously, as he had looked in the memorable 
moment when, before the great adventure, I begged 
him and he told me : " You shall go ! " 

" Dreaming of the old hikes, Bobbie? Were 
you? Oh, well, all things must end; and you know, 
you're growing old." 

Growing old? And all things must end? 

How can such things be, when there is immor- 
tality? 

I looked up at him and tried to tell him that he 
was wrong. I spoke with the only speech I know; 
soft mutterings, deep in my throat. 

But he was not looking at me. He glanced down 
at his right arm, that hung stiffened and useless at 
his side. 

" Ah, well, Bobbie," he said, a little absently, " I 
guess it was worth it ! " 

Then passed the last vestige of my melancholy 
mood. Came one in its stead of fierce exaltation. 
Because of his arm; because of the countless sacri- 
fices of myriads, on the battlefields and in the sup- 
port trenches of the homes; because of the lives laid 
down and the inspirations which flow from the souls 
that wrong has sent across the border, God's will 
was accomplished. 

Never should the Hun set his bestial foot upon 
the sacred soil of Canada. Never should his touch 
stain the Flag of the Crosses of freedom. Never 
should he invade the storied land of Canada's great 



3i8 MOPPING UP! 

neighbor to the south. Nor upon that of the land 
below it, now torn with internal strife. Nor, finally 
upon the ground of the great sun-bathed continent 
that lies below the Gulf. 

Herein, as through the world, the fate of op- 
pression was sealed and the hour of deliverance for 
Liberty was at hand. 

So, being wise, I knew that it was right that he 
had been maimed. We would do as best we could, 
and then, again whole, each of us revived in endless 
youth, we would range together the fields of the 
Beyond. 

Pendragon was speaking again. I knew the 
tone; and loved it best of all. It was a little 
teasing. 

"Anyway, you should learn to stay at home, old 
fellow. A roUing stone must stop some day. And 
now you have responsibilities. You are a family 
man, remember ! " 

I wagged my tail as my look, now proudly pos- 
sessive, followed his own. 

It was for this; the bond supreme, the life tryst 
with eternity which requires the peopling of the 
ages, that I had hurried home in odd restlessness; 
eager, thrilling, wistful, like 

" A hunter home from the hill." 

There by the glowing fireplace lay Myrex; my 
proud, shy, beautiful Myrex, snugging her six wee 
children; hers and mine. 

Myrex? 

Her name seems familiar to you? Why not? 

w 98 



" A TOUCH OF NATURE " 319 

I have told you of her, earlier In these pages. I 
call her Rex, for short. 

She is Myrex; my love, my pal, my wife. She is 
mine, and I am hers; her soldier, home from the 
wars. 

THE END 



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